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4 












Nobody's Cousin 


BY 

A. VAN OGLE 

M 



Cochrane Publishing Company 
Tribune Building 
New York 
1910 



Copy right, 1910, by 
Cochrane Publishing Co. 




CCIA261511 


LIVE TO THY HIGHEST. 


Live to thy highest. Live to thy best, 

Cherish the spiritual, leaving the rest. 

Nothing is poor or low, God ever made ; 

Love and the beautiful deathless were made. 
Working is worship. Seek no reward ; 

Not even gratitude, self thus discard. 

If by thy dear ones misunderstood, 

Turn to thy Saviour, He works thy good. 
Would ’st be an Angel? Be one down here; 
Nor wait the changing life; true life is here. 
Live as thy Master, others to bless. 

Seek out the erring ones, tell them of rest ; 

And at life ’s twilight sweet thoughts will stray, 
Into our heavenly home, not far away. 

— A. Van Ogle . 



NOBODY’S COUSIN 





Nobody’s Cousin 


CHAPTER I. 

“Do not keep me waiting, Dent,” said the 
young doctor. “Come along. I shall feel a 
personal slight if this second invitation is re- 
fused. Danvers is a great friend of mine, and 
an ideal host; their delightfully informal fam- 
ily dinners give me a homey sort of thank-God- 
and-take-courage feeling. They are really a 
socially gifted family, where one can always 
meet congenial souls, and the restful, pure at- 
mosphere attracts a busy fellow like me. Why, 
man, if I had the sweet smile that beamed on 
you yesterday from Ila Danvers, the hardest 
old day in the hospital would pass delightfully. 
Your indifference is a puzzle.” 

“In my position it would be understood, 
Malcomb,” Dent remarked so sadly that his 
visitor ceased his bantering, seeing evidence of 
carrying him off to dine at the quiet little home 
to which they were bidden. 

Returning to the pleasant, tastefully ar- 

7 


8 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ranged apartments of his friend, after spend- 
ing a most enjoyable evening, Mr. Eldred Mal- 
comb was helping himself to a cigar, when 
Dent abruptly enquired as to the pretty, pen- 
sive women he was driving with that morning. 

“She is a much abused little beauty whom 
I rescued from a terrible husband. I was tak- 
ing her to the steamer to send home South to 
her parents, while the man is in a sanitarium 
for inebriates, ’ ’ he replied. 

“Ah, take care, my friend! These rescue 
cases are for older men than yourself. Are you 
not afraid of being misunderstood? Motives 
might be attributed to your conduct, the oppo- 
site of noble or unselfish. Do not compromise 
the splendid career before you by some mistake 
affecting your personal reputation.” 

“Thanks,” said he, while moving away to 
the window, muttering, reverently: “He made 
Himself of no reputation,” and, turning with a 
smile, holding out his hand he remarked : ‘ ‘ How 
good it sounds to be lectured by a dear old 
chum.” 

“It is because of an uneasy day-dream I have 
of your sympathies running away with good 
judgment and some ‘rescue’ case marring a 
useful life. 

“All good women appeal to you, but what of 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


9 


those the great world holds two opinions of?” 

“Even they are beautifully sad pictures. As 
if the great Artist had allowed an accident to 
smudge the fairness of His work.” 

“May His hand restore the hardness of the 
outlines, who is able to wash them whiter than 
snow,” added his listener. 

“Why do you so persistently avoid ladies' 
society, Dent? I watched you at Danvers'. 
One might have supposed you unmindful of 
Ila's kindness. I am not jealous, but slightly 
envious.” 

“Oh, Malcomb, don’t! Don't make it harder 
by reminding me of a fact not apprehended by 
you. 

“In all these years of our intimacy has it 
never struck you as strange that I have not 
mentioned kindred ties? Or has it been a sub- 
ject of your inner consciousness that I had 
none ? 

“Malcomb, listen. I’m nobody’s son; I have 
no knowledge of my antecedents whatever. Let 
me tell you the unhappy truth — all I know; 
then, out of the goodness of your heart let the 
matter forever remain sealed up between us. 

“I was brought to this country when a child 
by two poor people, who had no children; the 
man a mechanic, who failed to find ready em- 


10 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ployment, so his wife took in washing and 
boarders. We lived in Brooklyn, and they 
kindly sent me regularly to school until I was 
old enough to be an office-boy in this block, 
where I succeeded the dear old friend and pa- 
tron, who gave me my legal profession and 
start in life; also an annuity, which is a great 
boon to a lonely, homeless man. The good peo- 
ple who brought me from England returned 
there when I was a boy, and I failed to obtain 
even their address. Perhaps, being uneducat- 
ed, writing was impossible, but I deeply regret 
my inability to return them some grateful rec- 
ompense for years of care and loving compan- 
ionship given to me.” 

“I am so sorry, Dent, to have touched such a 
tender spot, and heartily enter into your feel- 
ings; but why don’t you do something to find 
out your origin or family? What do you sup- 
pose Ila Danvers would care how poor they 
were, if of our own race and honest? I know 
her stubborn, undaunted soul, when clinging to 
an object she loves. See how determined she is 
this season to go to Europe, all on account of 
some little motherless schoolmate she was de- 
voted to, and cannot obtain tidings of. They 
were in a London boarding-school together, and 
Ha’s affection has never waned for the girl. 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


11 


They expect to sail in May. Why not join their 
party, searching when in England for some 
trace of your obscure antecedents? How fool- 
ish to allow this to mar and embitter existence, 
or spoil a good, happy future for the dearest 
girl I know. All signs fail if Ila Danvers is 
not amenable to your goodness/ ’ 

“I will think of some way to get out of har- 
ness awhile, later on, my friend. You cannot 
enter into the soul hunger one suffers some- 
times in having no relatives, even in memory. 
Our good Father in heaven knew, when he 
bound his children up in families. A poor girl 
my foster-mother knew expressed a thought un- 
derstood now, when remonstrated with as to 
neglect of personal adornment. ‘You see, 
ma’am, I got no folks to care about how I look/ 
she replied. An orphan girl taken into a poor 
family was guilty of biting one of the boys, 
scratching a little girl, and generally stirring 
things up. All ran to their mother for sym- 
pathy except the orphan offender, who stood 
aloof defiantly. The good mother smiled as she 
went on with her sewing, remarking quietly to 
her eldest daughter : ‘ Let us wait awhile, dear. 
Alice will feel more like one of the family if 
she can fight her way into a homelike partner- 
ship in you all. If lonely or sad, she would 


12 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


keep away from your squabbling. I am glad 
she feels enough at home to join the fuss/ 

“Wise woman. The girl grew into noble 
womanhood by correcting her own errors, un- 
der so patient an example. A boy chum I went 
to school with, whose mother had gone on a 
visit, knew the holy side of family love. When 
unable to write he enlisted my services in a let- 
ter, reading thus: ‘For goodness ’ sake, Mar- 
mee, come on home. I ’m goin ’ to the bad, sure. 
Got into a big fight, put out Tom’s eye for 
keeps, gambled away every cent out of my tin 
bank, lost my jacket in a fight since, and now 
I’m down in my boots.’ That bad boy is now 
the head superintendent at Stallcups. Talk of 
‘folks’ having no influence? Ah, my friend, 
God pity the homeless, the orphans, and — 
worse than orphans — the illegitimate, uncared- 
for, and unwelcome. ‘These are they, who 
came through great tribulations.’ Depend 
upon it, when I can afford it, some little waifs 
will be taken into a home without a big ‘H.’ 
Now, good-night. See the early morn approach- 
ing.” 

The two friends went in company to pay 
their farewell call on the Danvers previous to 
their leaving for England. Standing apart 
from the group Miss Ila remarked to her guest : 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


13 


“Malcomb assures me of your being in London 
this summer, Mr. Dent. We should all be glad 
to see you. Cards or a letter addressed care 
of Madame Zabriski — my old governess — would 
find us.” 

“ Thanks. I shall most assuredly call if 
there. Malcomb is more sanguine of the possi- 
bility than myself. You remain all the season, 
I believe?” 

* * That depends. I am anxious to find a girl 
friend, yet know nothing of her people or 
whereabouts. Am depending on madame, who 
might fail me. I love Pauline and hope to find 
her.” 

“ Pardon me. Is there no hesitation on the 
part of your parents in allowing a close inti- 
macy with a girl of whose family nothing is 
known? What if she belongs to the English 
‘Nobody’s/ eh?” 

“That could make no difference to her dear 
self. Why should it?” 

“Perhaps finding her might disillusion you, 
Miss Danvers. Let us hope your love is not 
misplaced, or unappreciated. Even in this 
grand, free country, parents are wont to seek 
a family tree. To come of good stock is con- 
sidered quite essential by most of us. May your 
friend prove worthy of such a quest and such 
a disinterested affection.” 


14 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


** Worthy! All are worthy for whom Christ 
died,” she remarked reverently. “He lives 
with many you or I might object to. Our poor 
attempts at loving our fellow mortals scarcely 
deserve the name in comparison, for ‘greater 
love hath no man than this, that a man lay 
down his life for his friends/ My regard came 
through listening to a glorious sentence in one 
of the prayers at the Cathedral, from which I 
had just returned, to find this lone child weep- 
ing bitterly at sortie unkindness. ‘Help us to 
love what Thou dost command,’ rushed into 
my heart, where I immediately took her and 
turned the key for all time. Yes, there is no 
difference as to who she might be. Her father 
a felon, or a tramp, can not change love. Love 
goes where it is sent. Yes, we must say good- 
bye, for I see other friends arriving.” 


CHAPTER II. 


July found Mr. Dent in England, but he had 
not called upon the Danvers. He had been 
very zealous in his search through the only 
county he remembered his foster-parents men- 
tioning — Gloucestershire — and had arrived at 
Cheltenham quite discouraged at repeated fail- 
ure. Becoming gloomy over his inability to 
trace his good friends of childhood, he had 
wandered the whole morning over the lovely 
city and was about to depart that evening, but 
the beauty of the place tempted him to one 
more stroll after lunch. 

His attention became attracted to a proces- 
sion of boys, dressed in unsightly garb, with 
coarse shoes. Gazing long and earnestly at 
these children, a strange shock passed into his 
consciousness. He clung for support to a rail- 
ing in front of one of the buildings. All at 
once, like a bound of far-reaching memory, this 
sight came back to him in all its hideous fa- 
miliarity l He must have been here— must have 
once walked in this line — a poorhouse waif ! 
Oh, why had he come to this town, to realize the 
15 


16 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


strange fact? Memory had been sleeping over 
all his life, to thus be rudely awakened, by a 
sight long forgotten. 

Collecting himself, he brushed aside the most 
bitter tears he had ever shed, as an inclination 
seized him to follow these little fellows. They 
were overtaken and each presented with a sil- 
ver coin, to spend as they chose. Their attend- 
ant vouchsafed the information that the super- 
intendent of the institution could be found at 
his rooms. Speedily arriving at the locality 
designated, on being admitted to an audience, 
he was again disappointed. 

“Ye see, sir, I only took this position about 
five years ago; the other man got too old for it 
and lives, retired like, down in Lansom Row. 
I ’low he, or his wife, could answer the ques- 
tions ye ask: tellin’ things as occurred about 
the time ye’re asking of.” 

Taking the address, our wanderer makes an- 
other venture, calling on a pleasant old couple 
who invited him to take a cup of tea, over 
which he gained information of much assist- 
ance. 

4 ‘Yes, I mind me of a man name o’ Travers — 
a bell-hanger by trade — cornin’ there from 
Fairfield, an’ gettin’ a little shaver they took 
wi’ ’em to Mericay,” These people directed 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


17 


him to an old Episcopal chaplain, then in office, 
who would have in writing some notes as to 
births, deaths and departures from the poor- 
house, about the time he was guessing at. They 
also knew an old woman, still an inmate, who 
was then a nurse in the institution. She had a 
good memory as to what transpired. They sug- 
gested his inquiring for her. 

Thanking them, Dent pushed on to the resi- 
dence of the Rev. Mr. Cosgrove, to find he had 
retired to rest, but would see him in the morn- 
ing. Sleepless and heavy-hearted, the time was 
beguiled through the hours until sure of an in- 
> terview. Cordially the old minister received 
him, manifesting a deep interest in his inqui- 
ries. Looking up an old memorandum book in 
his desk, and referring to the supposed date, 
he exclaimed in some hesitation: ‘‘Here it is, 
sir. ‘Dent. Poor young woman, about eigh- 
teen. Well dressed, plain gold ring on third 
finger. Very ill of fever; died same night; was 
unconscious from time of birth of little son. 
Only piece of envelope in her pocket marked 
“Mrs. Dent,” written in a heavy hand; no clue 
to identity or locality. Child taken from house, 
later by Travers, of Fairfield. ’ ” Then followed 
date and a X made by these people opposite 
their names. 


18 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


Overcome by this painful disclosure, poor 
Dent sat awhile with head buried in his hands, 
unable to control his emotion. Gently the kind 
old clergyman stepped toward him, and laying 
his two trembling hands on his head, said: 

“ Despair not, my son, at your humble birth- 
place. Think of the manger, and who was born 
there! No doubt your poor young mother was 
honest and good. Some dire misfortune, or 
anger, might have driven her to this shelter in 
her need and alarm. See how the good Lord 
has watched over and kept you; perhaps, in 
answer to her prayers. Be comforted. Life is 
to us all a great unfathomable mystery, to be 
solved only in another. Keep yours as pure 
and free from sin as God wishes. Consecrate 
it to His service, if you would be happy, and 
may His blessing ever rest on this troubled 
head.” 

Then in solemn accents, with both hands re- 
maining there, he added the benediction used at 
confirmation, by the bishop of his church, “De- 
fend, O Lord, this thy child,” etc. 

The prayer followed, during which both 
kneeled, and, in the silence, gloom and sorrow 
seemed to vanish from the poor fellow’s soul; 
a great calm — the calm of high resolve — entered 
into it, as, taking the hand of his benefactor, 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


19 


he heartily thanked him, and was about to with- 
draw when his host kindly bade him remain. 
Accepting his kind invitation to breakfast, he 
remarked, as he led the way with his guest to 
the dining-room: “It was fortunate your 
name was retained by the worthy foster-parents 
who took you with them, or there would have 
been little chance of establishing it.” 

Passing into the street again, he seemed borne 
up by a new strength of soul and purpose, as 
the thought came to him of an immortality be- 
ginning here. The words of the good minister 
echoing his very footsteps were coupled with 
the lines read, somewhere : 

“For what is time to thee, to whose cleared 
sight 

The night is turned to day. 

And that but changing life we call decay.” 

Ah, he would meet that little mother again! 
Never mind the distress and obscurity of her 
life here. He would love her memory. As pur- 
posed, he found the old woman designated by 
the previous superintendent as in attendance 
upon his mother during her brief sojourn at 
the workhouse, and her honest, truthful ap- 
pearance reassured him in his investigation. 


20 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“Yes, sir, I ca’ant allers remember things, 
seem’ ze many, but the young thing ye’re 
askin’ about must be she as had sich purty hair 
an’ white han’s. I mind o’ askin’ the porter 
her name, cos she niver spoke sensible-like after 
she was took ill, but all the time, even then, 
kep’ looking for somebody, as every one stepped 
’roun’ her. We all on us zed she niver cum 
vur, for twur a wet night, an’ her little theen 
slippers wurn’t wetted dru, tho’ she wur cooled. 
Yes, I mind her clothes was good, but wur some. 
She went on askin’ me about a cloak — which 
must have ben lost. There was no bag, or any 
other article, but what she wur — a sof’ kind 
o’ black silk, an’ a mantle o’ same. I see her 
turn roun’ a plain gole ring, which was furgot 
when we laid her out, and was lef’ on. She 
died ’bout seven o’clock nex’ mornin’, but I 
alius knowed she wur one as had seed better 
days, so I tuk good keer of her baby, ’till he 
wur adopted. We all wer’ puzzled ’bout where 
she cum vrom. Ye see, workhusses be ten mile 
apart, an’ they goo frum one on to ’tother for 
shelter, but she couldn’t ha’ walked thet vur.” 

-‘Was she tall, or of dark complexion?” 
asked Dent. 

“Laws, no, sir. Her eyes were blue, fur I 
was a wipin’ away the tears, an’ noticed ’em, 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


21 


an’ the black lashes. She wur very small an’ 
theen, an’ pale as a ghose. Mus’ ’a’ been purty 
afore this. Bein’ insensible, we niver noticed 
her talk. She hardly keered about us, or her 
truble. Poor young thing, but the doctor don 
all he cud t’ save her, an he’s dade now.” 

“Thanks, my good friend,” replied Dent, 
“and it may be this little gift will help to re- 
mind you of her, and suggest a kinder feeling 
still toward other poor strangers who come 
here. I will now seek the home of Mr. Tra- 
vers.” 

Reaching the village on the following day, 
he found his foster-mother living in a pretty 
villa, built in Brooklyn style. A neat maid, an- 
swering his summons at the door, informed him 
of her master’s death, which shocked him sad- 
ly. Shown into the cosy sitting-room, Mrs. Tra- 
vers soon entered, bursting into tears at the 
recognition. She had, as he recollected when a 
child, been a most reticent woman, whom 
Brooklynites failed to quiz; he therefore went 
cautiously into the subject of his early life. 

“Yes, it is true we took ye from the house, 
Dent, and ye went by the name of Dent Trav- 
ers, d’ye mind, at school; until Judge Arston 
hired ye in his office! Travers left ye three 
months there, afore he took it into his head to 


22 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


tell yer history. Tears stood in his eyes as he 
promised Travers to keep it from yer knowl- 
edge. ‘ Where ignorance is bliss, *tis folly to 
be wise/ was his old time saying. You had only 
lived a year with Judge Arston, when Travers 
sold out at a way-up price, and we returned 
here, after having a farewell interview with 
your good master, who said he*d always be a 
father to you.” 

“Did I never ask questions as to my antece- 
dents when a child!” 

“Yes, once, I particularly mind; some kids 
had been talking about Santa Claus. ’Twas 
about Christmas time. You were sitting on 
Travers* knee, asking if there was a real, live 
Santee. Travers paused a minute, his hand on 
your head, as he said: ‘No, sonny. We fill your 
stockings. Santa Claus is a ’maginary being/ 
then, turning to me, added : ‘ People should not 
expect children to believe the story of Jesus’ 
birth, or death, as a reality, if they impose this 
fable upon them in early life. They naturally 
ask, when older, if this is not also a mere sup- 
position or myth.* You looked up in his kind 
face with the question, ‘Why can*t you tell me 
whose real boy I am!* ‘You belong to God, 
Dent, and are His own son, for He calls all or- 
phans His, and watches over them always.* 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


23 


“ ‘How came you to have me? Did He send 
me to you?’ you inquired. We saw you were 
going to be a lone boy, and perhaps not so 
happy as we could make you, so brought you 
here, to be our very own little chap, for we had 
no boy to love us, see? It is mighty lucky 
Daddy Travers has never found you out in a 
fib, or had to punish ye. It would be so much 
bother to have a bad hoy around. Poor man! 
I see him now, sitting in his big chair so happy. 
You always loved books and pictures, but never 
could join the toughs on the street, or abide 
their rough talk, so Travers maintained to the 
last. You must have come of other forbears.’ ’ 

“Did you never inquire about the little 
mother who died in the poorhouse?” 

“Yes, Travers spent a many a day, and many 
a sovereign, tryin’ to get some particulars. The 
young soul come here on the mail coach from 
Bath. He saw the driver, now dead. He could 
only tell him, a girl, looking delicate, got on 
to the coach, without enough by a shilling to 
pay her fare. Seeing no passenger inside, he 
put her there, as it was a cold wind and she 
had no wraps. He could not say if she met 
this coach, or got on from the Bath side. Trav- 
ers went that summer to Bath, soon as the Box 
tunnel was done — made every inquiry for 


24 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


the name without success, till he went into a 
drug-store, and there heard a clerk mention a 
Dr. Dent. Inquiring where this man lived, 
and finding him, he was treated rudely, when 
asking if he ever had a son. The old army 
surgeon was cross as a bear, and too snappy 
to answer questions. The clerk said, at the 
drug-store, he had no wife, or children, and 
lived there only a few years; always moody 
and disagreeable.’ ’ 

Anxious to push on, as the time of his sail- 
ing was drawing near, this was the only day 
he could spare in the home of the only moth- 
er he ever knew. Before leaving, however, 
he asked her to accept the occasional over- 
sight and visits of the Rev. Cosgrove, to whom 
he returned as requested, with such informa- 
tion as obtained. Leaving in his hands a sum 
of money to be used at his earliest opportunity, 
in a visit to Bath, and inclosing all possible, to 
elicit information from the crusty old owner of 
his name, for he had a strange intuition of his 
kinship, Dent then requested this good man’s 
interest in Mrs. Travers, whose supervision he 
generously promised. 

In speaking of his interest in his foster-moth- 
er to Mrs. Cosgrove he also added another part 
of their conversation. When asked why she 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


25 


and her husband had so studiously avoided him 
after leaving America, she explained their un- 
selfish desire that he should not be “hampered 
by such plain folk.” His social advancement 
induced them to give him up to Judge Arston, 
purposely absenting themselves, a piece of self- 
effacement seldom heard of. 

“Many’s the time,” said Mrs. Travers, “I 
shed tears of longing to see you, not being able 
to write a letter. I, instead, prayed for God’s, 
blessing on the boy I loved as a son.” With 
quivering lips she tried to control her emotion 
by saying: “Please write the gentleman you 
visited, that I might hear you returned in 
safety. Thus I feel compelled to ask your 
good offices, sir, as I am bidding England fare- 
well. ’ ’ 

Now turning his face toward London, he soon 
found his friends, the Danvers, who were pre- 
paring to return on the same steamer as him- 
self. Ila was looking her best, and, calling a 
newly-found girl friend, presented her to Mr. 
Dent. Glad of a quiet half hour alone with Ila, 
as each member of the family dispersed to 
hurry the packing, he attempted to appear 
cheerful in her company without success. 

“You are pining for New York and tired 
of dear old England already. I can see it in 


26 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


your face. Well, we sail on Wednesday. I am 
so very glad of your company home, indeed I 
am,” she remarked, with a sweet, trustful look. 

“Thanks; I appreciate your goodness in say- 
ing so. It is more than a comfort to a lone 
fellow like myself, who cannot be considered a 
society man. Can I help you do anything to 
facilitate starting? Is the family packing all 
done? It would be a great pleasure to serve 
you in some way.” 

“Thanks. I believe father would be glad of 
assistance tomorrow; perhaps you can drop in 
at lunch and discuss matters. We all feel anx- 
ious to get home. Home is so much nicer after 
the change of absence. Letters from Malcomb 
say he will have everything ready, and dear 
old cook back. He will meet us, the dear, good 
soul.” 

“Yes, Malcomb is a dear, good friend. I 
hold his friendship as one of my anchors to 
humanity. I have so few.” 

“Why so few? Is it not through your own 
shortsightedness that you fail to observe their 
number is legion? The Good Book says: ‘If 
thou wouldst have friends, show thyself friend- 
ly/ ” 

“Is that intended as a rebuke, Miss Danvers, 
a suggestion, or as an encouragement?” asked 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


27 


her listener, as he bent his grave eyes toward 
her searchingly. 

4 ‘ Encouragement,’ ’ replied the girl, in a 
low, sweet tone, blushing crimson as she looked 
up bravely, with a tear glistening in her dark 
eyes, a sweet, womanly grace in every feature. 

“I shall remember that,” he replied, with a 
deep sigh. 


CHAPTER III. 


Madame Zabriski could give little informa- 
tion as to the direct whereabouts of Pauline; 
therefore, Miss Danvers obtained her parents' 
consent to a trip alone into an adjoining 
county, to the last address the madame re- 
tained — for the death of her dearest friend, 
Pauline’s mother, and the fact of receiving no 
reply to her repeated communications, had 
somewhat piqued her interest in the girl she had 
gratuitously educated for her mother’s sake. 

“ There must be some cause for this neglect, 
dear madame, that we do not know,” remarked 
Ila. “I have come to England, desiring to find 
her, and intend searching until the wish is con- 
summated.” 

Setting out by rail the following morning, 
she arrived at Arrowton, and sought the num- 
ber and street designated. It was a harness- 
shop ! The proprietor courteously answered 
inquiries, yet obviously in a somewhat guarded 
manner. “You see, Miss, the young girl’s 
father was a very intellectual man, indeed, but 
not fit for business — a sort of dreamer, poet and 
28 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


29 


musician; totally unfit for the shop, so when 
Erie Truax got acquainted, he persuaded him 
to sell out to me, and he, and his pretty little 
daughter, went to live at Tanbury Castle, or 
close by, where the father died about a year 
ago. Miss Hamersly remains at the place 
ever since, we hear, but are not acquainted with 
her. Tanbury Castle is a hard place to get at. 
My son has business at Willybur — a town some 
miles further. He could take you there on his 
way, if agreeable to you, and call again on re- 
turning, when perhaps your visit would be 
over.” 

“I would be much obliged if he would do so, 
and also permit me to pay carriage hire,” re- 
plied Ila. 

The morning shone as lovely as early May 
can in England. Sweet scented primroses dot- 
ted the banks by the roadside, the sweet per- 
fume of violets mingling therewith. Few re- 
marks from the grave driver disturbed her 
thoughts of the beauty and grandeur of the 
drive, as Ila sped along through a part of the 
country so new to her, and yet so old. Arriv- 
ing at a solid brick wall of considerable height, 
and seeing no termination visible on one side of 
the driveway, she ventured a question as to lo- 
cality. 


30 NOBODY’S COUSIN 

1 * The wall is said to be eight miles around the 
park, Miss, but I don’t know if it is true; w6 
pass another mile of it before we get to one of 
the lodge gates, where I must leave you, having 
no business or card of admission. The lodge- 
keeper would not permit me to enter. It is the 
rule at all the four lodges of the castle to keep 
strangers from intruding. The owner is very 
peculiar. No people of family visit him since 
Lady Georgina died, but he has gone abroad 
now.” 

“Thanks. I shall have difficulty, perhaps, 
in getting into this demesne.” 

‘ ‘ Being a lady, afoot, it might be easier, Miss, 
especially if your pocket is lined,” added her 
escort with a knowing smile. “I will call on 
returning, when I think you will be quite ready 
to leave Tanbury.” The latter uttered with 
peculiar emphasis, quite bewildering. 

Ila assured the taciturn old lodge-keeper she 
was a schoolfellow of Miss Hamersly, and 
would, after a brief call on her, return in the 
carriage from which she had alighted. However, 
his hesitation did not subside until half a 
crown graced his grimy palm, when he gave 
a horrid grin, and pointed to a group of trees 
nearly half a mile further on. Graceful pieces 
of statuary, at intervals along the broad car- 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


31 


riage drive, nestled between choice shrubs, 
winding in and out, for a long distance. 
Branching off from this main driveway was 
a well trimmed box hedge, lining a pleasant 
path, which narrowed toward a trellis-bound 
yard overhung with vines and thick foliage, 
through which a vista of loveliness was en- 
countered in the shape of a picturesque cottage, 
so entirely foreign in design and beauty as to 
make one feel they had awakened from some 
dream and found themselves in Italy or Naples. 
At the entrance stood a pretty carriage, to 
which was attached a pair of lovely ponies, held 
by a tiny groom of foreign appearance, who 
gracefully held his hat, while Ila passed into 
the portico. The door of this pretty mansion 
was open, golden sunshine flooding the white 
floor and gorgeous rugs lying on the porch, 
over which birds sang a welcome. A foreign 
woman of middle age answered her knock, but 
ere she had delivered her card, the sweet, sad 
face of the girl sought came forward, then 
hastily stopped, turned very white, put up her 
hands in evident distress, saying: “Don’t, don’t 

touch me ; please go away and forget ’ ’ 

And before another sentence escaped her, she 
had fainted, falling on a low settee at the en- 
trance of the fairy-like room. In a moment the 


32 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


attendant was administering assistance, speak- 
ing in a low, soothing tone the language 
known to each other. Gently offering some 
restorative, and seeing her mistress recovering, 
she silently withdrew. Ila had in the interval 
imbibed a faint, painful, inkling as to possi- 
bilities, and as they dawned upon her, an aw- 
ful sense of responsibility and fear entered her 
soul. Yes; fear — lest words, or the way to use 
them should fail to express the great pity and 
love she felt, and instead brush harshly against 
some delicate soul-chord, sending a discordant 
twang through, and through, its God-given en- 
tirety. Praying as never before for guidance, 
and the wisdom that resolves first to “cast out 
the beam,” so that a “seeing clearly / 1 as the 
Great Master put it, might be manifest, Ila 
quietly moved toward the stricken girl, beau- 
tiful, indeed, she could but admit, yet trying 
to steel her heart against all advances of 
friendship from her visitor. Holding her by 
both hands in a kindly embrace, she refused 
to be repulsed, and to recall Pauline to her 
senses, she said: 

“Won’t you offer me some refreshment, 
dear? I am quite hungry after so long a drive.” 

This helped her to find herself, and gently 
pressing her tiny foot on a button, the atten- 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


33 


dant answered her summons, presently arriv- 
ing with a dainty lunch, served in choicest 
china, glass and silver, but in which Pauline 
failed to share. At its conclusion, Ila suggest- 
ed accompanying her hostess for a drive, her- 
self taking the reins, the groom being dismissed 
for the time, which he gladly spent with his 
mother, the Neapolitan woman serving her. 

“Not a smile of welcome, not even a kiss or 
handshake have you given me, dear, yet I have 
longed to see you and came so far. Now tell 
me all about it, or will you let me guess?” said 
her kind visitor. At this Pauline drew away, 
tears gathering in her lovely eyes, which could 
not meet the gaze of Ha’s pure, soul-lit orbs. 

“Please do not ask me. I am not your little 
friend any more. Go away and forget I ever 
lived. Yes, guess if you choose — guess that' I 
thought it love. It came gradually. His whole 
being seemed to dominate my own weaker na- 
ture, taking all will-power away. He is very 
handsome and has a winsome manner; then 
poor father was ill and we had no money left 
after his debts were paid. He — Erie Truax — 
came to father's shop one day to order some- 
thing. I was playing one of Chopin’s noc- 
turnes. He listened, asked to be introduced, is 
passionately fond of music, so was my father. 


34 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


We left the shop. Father was so happy here. 
Everything possible was done for him. Ah, I 
am so glad he died without knowing. His ill- 
ness ended suddenly. The benefactor was sitting 
by his side, when he gave him such a look of 
gratitude, murmuring thanks for his goodness 
to us. Before I could realize it, our visitor, 
turning deathly pale, pointed to father and 
fled from the room. I have never seen him 
since. He is abroad. No; I do not love him, 
now I know his great sins. This estate was 
obtained by a falsehood and murder. This love- 
ly wood we are now entering has a romance; I 
cannot tell you now. Ask me if we meet again 
and I will do so. This was father’s favorite 
drive. Life without him seems dark. The 
owner’s latest instructions to Lassane, his old 
courier left in charge, who is a faithful friend 
to me, are to the effect that a liberal income 
is settled upon me, and London suggested as 
my new home. Judge of my feelings!” 

“Ah, you will never so far degrade your 
womanhood, dear Pauline; you do not intend 
to sink down deeper; yet nothing left undone 
or done can take you out of my heart, dear 
girl. This is God’s message to you. Come 
away from it all — all. Come with me. You 
do not love this gilded grave! You are not out 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


35 


of Christ's keeping, as your unhappiness at this 
juncture proves; therefore, be brave; touch not 
the soiled money. Leave the costly jewels and 
the baubles that have tainted your pure child- 
hood, for you were but sixteen when tempta- 
tion came in this, its most insidious shape. Are 
not our forsaken sins the best proof they are 
our deeply repented ones? Cease weeping so 
bitterly, my poor little one," said her friend, 
throwing a loving arm around the quivering 
form, as the ponies halted under the shade of 
a large oak. 

“Oh, I cannot, I cannot inflict my miserable 
self on a family like yours. It would embar- 
rass you, and place me in a false position. I 
should forever see myself as I am." 

“Then that would reflect on the power and 
goodness of Him who said, ‘Neither do I con- 
demn thee,' and be taking from Him the pleas- 
ure of seeing you happy and useful in His lov- 
ing service. Rather believe in His having sent 
after you, dear, employing me as His poor 
agent, whose love is but a faint streak com- 
pared with His great heartful. Decide for 
Him, dearest. He is waiting and guarding the 
door of each heart. Mine to take you in. Yours 
to come, and I must have you. There is no 
other voice to call you but His own ; even mine 


36 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


is but His own, echoed. Our confessions to the 
world are quite unnecessary, and really harm- 
ful to others. The life you leave behind need 
not be known to any but your Maker, unless 
you choose. Sleep no more under the coverlid 
of Satan’s weaving. Promise to be ready in a 
few days, or hours, so that I might be assured 
of your return with us, for we sail on Wednes- 
day of next week, and I will not leave you ! ’ * 

Overcome with pleading, Ila’s noble spirit 
gave way, and a burst of tears relieved her. 
The utter silence of her listener had been too 
much in its seeming passivity. 

With a moan of anguish Pauline turned 
around with arms wildly outstretched, crying : 
“Oh, Father in heaven, forgive me, and take 
me away. I want to go, but I want most of all 
to die, and go to poor father. I ’ve nobody who 
cares but Ila. Let me do as she says. Take away 
all the terrible blocks in my way. Hear me, 
oh, hear me, for Jesus’ sake.” 

A shudder of cold seized her as she ceased 
her wild prayer, and Ila covered her in the 
ermine robe of the carriage, hastening back, 
where it seemed advisable to see her good ser- 
vant assist her to undress and retire, after 
sweetly promising to be ready the following 
day if Ila would bring a carriage. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


37 


Sending the little groom for Mr. Lassane, the 
next morning passed swiftly in turning over 
to his care all the beautiful gifts and expensive 
dresses she had, reserving only such as were 
absolutely required for her journey. Then 
taking her purse, she insisted upon the Nea- 
politan woman and her son being sent home by 
thus using her money, as they pined for Na- 
ples and were happy in the thought of return- 
ing. Lasanne requested the presence of the 
French woman who was housekeeper at the 
castle, as a witness to the surrender of things 
so valuable. 

At two o’clock Ila arrived with a carriage in 
which they rapidly drove away from Tanbury, 
to see it no more. 


CHAPTER IV. 


They had been on board a Cunarder some 
hours before meeting Mr. Dent, whose disap- 
pointing voyage to England had left him in a 
mood less social than occasion demanded. Mr. 
Danvers was unable to leave his stateroom, and 
poor Pauline so upset with seasickness as to 
be entirely left to the care of the good stew- 
ardess. The weather became unpleasant, fogs 
followed by a high wind rendered it impossi- 
ble to enjoy a few hours on deck until the two 
days before landing. These Ila availed her- 
self of to arouse some interest in their compan- 
ion. 

“I must beg your pardon, Miss Ila,” said 
Dent, “for so sadly neglecting the privilege of 
useful service in your behalf. I think the sea 
has made me feel grumpy and cross. Can you 
have patience and Christian forbearance enough 
not to lay it permanently up against me?” 

‘ ‘ I could not lay any shortcomings up against 
you,” she affirmed, in a sweet, low tone, “as 
there must be a cause to remove in such case, 
and I would rather set myself the task of re- 
moving it, if possible.” 

38 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


39 


“But what if it is impossible ?” 

“I could not believe in its impossibility, un- 
less I knew, then in all probability the cause 
or reason would melt away with my knowledge 
of it,” and she looked bravely and truthfully 
into his sober face as they paced the long deck. 

“Please tell me, Miss Danvers, if Malcomb 
has ever spoken of me personally as a misan- 
thrope.” 

“Never, to be perfectly frank, though I plied 
him with many questions as to your grave, 
Quaker-like ways — the absence of joke or laugh- 
ter and directness of speech — so unlike a young 
man. Yet I must do myself the justice to say 
it was by no means out of idle curiosity I 
begged his replies; it was really because I 
feared that in my usual bantering way I might 
blunder into saying something that might touch 
the wrong chord. Oh, he is a grand, loyal 
friend. After all my bribing and careful prob- 
ing the most I gained was his promise that on 
your return from England, if you did not make 
me acquainted with some facts of interest, he 
would seek your permission to tell me himself, 
but his look when he spoke was so reassuring, 
I felt convinced it was a mere bugaboo; there- 
fore, I possess my soul in patience — a virtue 
my sex lacks, which is, however, most pro- 


40 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


nounced in myself, even meriting excuse.” 

“Patient, yes, indeed,” affirmed her listener. 
“I have known you two years — two years since 
a new vista in life opened up for me. But lis- 
ten, there is the dinner-bell. We must hasten 
do\vn. I have to exchange this heavy coat.” 

During the bustle of disembarking, Miss 
Hamersly was duly cared for, with Mrs. Dan- 
vers, by Dent. Ila. and her father busy with 
custom officials; Malcomb doing his share in as- 
sisting after a cordial greeting for all, and a 
sincere welcome home to New York. 

At their informal dinner, all seemed delight- 
ed at being once more at home. Pauline sat 
next to Malcomb, who now and then quite neg- 
lected amenities, blundering in an unusual man- 
ner over the little duties demanded at table, 
blushing furiously as Ila shook a finger at him. 

On returning to the cosy sitting-room Mr. 
Dent found a corner near Ila, the others join- 
ing in a general debate, giving the latter a 
chance to say: “What do you think of Miss 
Hamersly ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have not had time to bestow much thought 
on her. She is certainly very lovely to look 
upon. There is a new sort of beauty in her 
that leaves mystery, curiosity and a sort of 
wonder. Please do not question me further 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


41 


until I know her better. Look at Halcomb. 
You see how the land lays already !” 

“Oh, no! Please do not allow him to — 
to” 

“What gives you such a look of alarm?” 

“He must not. Pauline will not marry, and 
I think too much of him for such a hopeless 
love to spoil his life.” 

“Why will she not marry? May I venture 
to ask?” 

‘ ‘ She has resolved to become a charity nurse 
in one of the institutions, and is, perhaps, con- 
sulting Malcomb as to its feasibility.” 

“Better not join a nurse’s staff. Every doc- 
tor would go wild over her, the other nurses 
jealous, and then — who knows? Jealousy is a 
cruel monster. Her nursing would soon cease, 
I opine.” 

“Shame on your subtle intuitions, Mr. Dent. 
A nurse she will be, a wife she won’t be, and 
‘there’s an end on’t.’ You must come to din- 
ner on Thursday evening, when Pauline has 
promised to sing, and will play for us during 
the evening. Her voice, when a girl, was pro- 
nounced by our Italian teacher excellent. I 
long to hear it again.” 

“Thanks for including me in the select num- 
ber invited to celebrate your return. The oc- 
casion will be most gratifying.” 


42 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


Before retiring to rest, Ila sought her father 
in his study and in her usual caressing man- 
ner sat on a low ottoman, leaning her arm on 
his knee, which attitude, he was well aware, pre- 
ceded some serious plan, or the preliminaries 
to a favor. “Daddy, I’m come on real busi- 
ness; please pay ’tention. You know all about 
the small legacy grandpa left me, as my very 
own. Will you fix this in some way so that 
Pauline shall have half of it?” 

“I am sorry to refuse what seems a natural 
request, dear, but it will, I assure you, be quite 
unnecessary, as the near future will disclose, 
beside placing your friend under an obligation. 
The interest divided between you is enough for 
all the dainty dresses and pocket money. Do 
not ask me to do this, for Pauline is so radiant- 
ly lovely I have no doubt of her finding some 
good partner for life. If not, dear, her com- 
fort shall be my care always as a daughter. 
Your mother and myself agreed to ask you no 
questions in reference to your protege, prefer- 
ring to await any information you might have 
obtained as to her past four years, since part- 
ing at school, knowing we can trust your good 
judgment and kind heart; yet, one thing I 
must exact a promise for at your hands. It 
is this: Pauline Hamersly must not marry a 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


43 


man from our home with any secret of that 
past hidden from his knowledge. The girl is 
too reticent for her years — too sad — too free 
from the natural impulses of girlhood, unless 
some shadow of sin or sorrow is hanging over 
her young soul. But hush, my child ; do not let 
me cause such weeping as this. Father is only 
speaking plainly. It is quite unnecessary you 
should tell us anything you know, dearest Ila. 
I only ask that her husband shall know. Either 
from her lips or your own, if there is any secret 
in her life untold. Marriage should be free 
from the slightest mist. Suspicion destroys 
love, whereas an error confessed induces sym- 
pathy in our sex. A man takes no bride from 
here deceived in any way.” 

Thoughtfully gazing into the cheery fire for 
a while, Ila remained until quite calm, then ac- 
costed her parent with the query: “Would it 
be better for the big world and all the people 
in it, if I published every bit of my badness — 
all I have done wickedly in the past? Do all 
men tell their wives, either before or after mar- 
riage, the secret sins committed before making 
their acquaintance? Did you tell my mother, 
dear dad? No. Yet because a woman is a 
woman she is exempt from this freedom — this 
telling to her God alone her sins and mistakes, 


44 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


and leaving the secrets of her life at His foot- 
stool, above and far beyond the criticisms of 
a self-constituted father-confessor! Why is 
this? Are men purer or holier than our sex 
that they make this demand ; or is it a prerog- 
ative of their divine appointment? When you 
and mother so carefully selected my reading as 
a girl you eliminated all that seemed evil 
on the principle that to read or even talk of evil 
things, 'strengthened the evil within us — 
brought out dormant evil imaginings, whereas, 
selections of good only strengthened and deter- 
mined the good — the God-given attainment af- 
ter holiness of life and purpose. -Sex had no 
part in this program. Why, then, should I 
darken another’s soul with a recital of my 
wrong-doings, or give to a poor, sinful mortal 
man, because he is a man, the assignment of 
mentor or inquisitor who might retain for all 
time in his poor imperfect mind, to be used, 
perhaps, against me the shortcomings or sins 
of a past that belongs to my God alone, 
who has said: ‘Your sins and iniquities will I 
remember no more.’ Then why should I not 
forget them? Why should not all believing 
souls forget them, by His glorious example and 
promise? The demand of your sex, as a sex, 
dear dad, is hard to accept; nevertheless your 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


45 


wishes will be obeyed. I must go and think 
over your unfathomable creed, for I fail to see 
its righteousness. 

“We have to be very cautious, dear father, 
for He said, ‘Except your righteousness shall 
exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and 
Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the 
Kingdom of Heaven/ Let us aim to exceed 
these by going straight in love’s pathway, after 
the lambs He will gather for His own. Hating 
all sin, as a blemish, yet loving all who fall 
under its cloud, as unfortunate subjects for 
sympathy, not judgment.” 

Ila left the room with a prayer on her lips to 
which she added: “If any man lack wisdom 
let him ask of God, who giveth to all men lib- 
erally and upbraideth not.” She did not allow 
this brief conversation to transform her sincere 
love into an anxiety as to consequences; God 
would take care of that. She thought of a dear 
lady of her acquaintance, who gathered up a 
prostrate woman, putting her into a cab and 
placing her in a lovely room, though a perfect 
stranger, to be accosted by a very sensible and 
wise neighbor with the remark, “My dear wom- 
an, what are you doing? Why, supposing the 
stranger should die on your hands?” 

“I should be thankful I let her die in this 


46 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


nice clean bed, where the setting sun shines 
on her, while I am asking for the Son of Right- 
eousness to revive and bless her soul, my dear 
friend/ ’ replied the lady. An impulse direct 
from heaven is often ignored by this long-drawn 
sigh, “ consequences.’ ’ 

The reunion of dear friends on the following 
Thursday evening was a most enjoyable func- 
tion. Pauline played some fine selections on 
the violin, and sang, in both Italian and Eng- 
lish, some of the best and choicest pieces. Then 
Malcomb requested her to join him in an old 
song, “The Mermaid,” his fine barytone add- 
ing much to the beauty of the old-time melody 
which friends encored, singing again the re- 
frain : 

“The winds are all hushed; the waters at rest; 
They sleep like the passions in infancy’s breast, 
Till storms shall unchain them from out their 
sweet sleep, 

And break the repose of their soul in the deep.” 

The wonderful contralto voice and accom- 
plished young stranger in her lovely dress of 
softest fluffy gray and white called forth many 
sweet compliments during the evening. Mal- 
comb ’s marked attentions being also duly com- 
mented on. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


47 


Throwing her arm around her friend on re- 
tiring to their rooms, Ila thanked her with a 
loving embrace for the delight she had given 
her and the pleasure her music and sweet voice 
had bestowed upon their friends. 

“I am very glad, dearest, to aid in any or 
all of your social enjoyment, provided I am not 
expected to join you when accepting invitations 
for, believe me, they would be declined — always 
declined. My work is to commence on Monday, 
and I am glad of being able to devote my time 
and best efforts to the amelioration of suffering 
in every form I meet it; therefore, I must beg 
your help, dear Ila, and request you not to try 
to tempt me aside from the path I have chosen, 
or do a thing to hinder me. Please promise me 
this, dear girl, for by nature I am excessively 
indolent, and only the thought of the Master 
can keep me going.” 

“I will, dear Pauline, although I see it is 
going to be hard work for us to set you apart 
thus. We are glad, however, that your name 
is down for some of the numbers on the pro- 
gram for the ‘Children’s Home Fund.’ That 
was so good of you, and Malcomb is very 
pleased.” 

“Yes, it is a pleasure to go where I hear the 
call of the Master. I am going to sing the solo 


48 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


on Sundays at both hospitals, one in the after- 
noon and the other at the evening service.” 

Very faithfully, and efficiently Pauline ac- 
quited herself day after day in the new role 
assumed. Her sympathetic nature frequently 
taxed to extremity, yet no word of regret or 
look of dissatisfaction with her vocation escaped 
her. The year had nearly passed since her 
advent in America, when an unusually sad case 
of a young girl came under her supervision at 
the hospital, and seemed to draw too much upon 
her delicate organization. The surgeon in at- 
tendance — Dr. Atwell — saw her danger and 
gently remonstrated, but without effect, until 
a day arrived when Mrs. Danvers was greatly 
alarmed at the sight of a carriage standing 
opposite and a fine looking young man lifting 
a limp, lifeless form in his strong arms and 
bearing it up the steps. 

“Oh, Pauline, dear girl, what is the mat- 
ter 

“She will recover in a few moments, dear 
madame, but this being the third time she has 
fainted in two hours, 1 took upon myself the 
responsibility of bringing her home, from 
which she must not emerge for some time. My 
name is Atwell, one of the daily physicians. 
May I undertake the care of the patient, Mrs. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


49 


Danvers? I am sure she will need both care 
and careful treatment. ’ ’ 

“Certainly, Dr. Atwell; we are pleased to 
know one of Malcomb’s friends.” 

“Thanks. I see the dear girl has recovered 
consciousness,” said he, and on retiring pressed 
the hand of his charge with a radiant smile, 
assuring her that he would return speedily 
with remedies. 

Ila was deeply concerned and grieved at 
sight of the pale face and listless form she en- 
countered on returning from a visit, and set- 
ting herself the duty of chief nurse, everything 
possible was done for her, without visible im- 
provement. Dr. Atwell’s unremitting over- 
sight proceeded from a regard apparent to all, 
as beyond mere professional duty. 

Malcomb’s daily calls were always looked 
forward to silently and wistfully by the in- 
valid. The third day of her collapse he was 
quite encouraged by her animated exclama- 
tion: “Oh, what a lovely pot of lilies. How 
good of you!” 

“Yes, but my careless hand in bringing them 
has broken this sweet one from its stem, see?” 

“Never mind; please give it to me,” and 
musingly the girl handled the delicate blossom, 
saying as she did so: 


50 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“No pain have they in dying; no shrinking 
from decay; 

Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as 
they.” 

“I often think of L. E. L.’s lovely lines on 
‘Flowers/ Poor flower! Have you a soul? Is 
that broken, I wonder?” 

“Dear Miss Hamersly, you must not dwell 
in thought upon the decay of these fair blos- 
soms, but rather on the beautiful lesson they 
teach us, in having their faces so perpetually 
turned up to the glorious sunlight, even as our 
own souls should be constantly lifted up- 
ward, that the Son of Righteousness might pour 
down upon them. Something is troubling you, 
dear one. Tell me what it is. I have waited 
patiently, loving you a whole year, and I am 
growing impatient at your constantly and per- 
sistently withdrawing this dear little hand. 
Can you not trust me?” 

“It is my selfishness — the thought of losing 
forever the light of life. Do not ask me. My 
decision was given long since. It can never 
alter. Please forget me and love a girl that 
is — that is — different.” 

Then handing him the broken flower she 
burst into tears, saying: “The flower is droop- 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


51 


ing and will soon decay. I am trying to under- 
stand — to live as beginning the future life 
here.” 

“Oh, my darling! Don’t pain me by such a 
sad remark. Let me keep this broken emblem 
until your soul turns to mine, untrameled by 
such recollections as distress you. I will never 
give you up. Never cease to love you, no mat- 
ter what the cause.” 

“Hush, hush, Mr. Malcomb; you speak un- 
advisedly, and will regret such expressions 
when” 

“When what, dear one? I will wait just a 
little while longer — perhaps at the seaside, when 
you are more like yourself, I shall be treated 
with the confidence I have so long desired to 
merit.” 

“When you are, dear friend, be prepared to 
leave me forever out of your life, as you will, 
for I dare not enter into it.” 

“You mistake my determination of purpose, 
dear girlie. This little hand is going to be 
mine, in spite of all the dark demons of the 
nether world, past, present, or of future man- 
ipulation ! Do you suppose Ila would love you 
as she does if unworthy as you infer?” 

“Ah, Ila’s love is for Christ’s sake!” 

“How, then, could she have sought and 


52 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


found you among strangers if not for person- 
al, individual affection, pure as a snowflake? 
Eminently practical as her religious life mani- 
fests itself always, some undercurrent of sisterly 
regard took her to your side.” 

“Yes, but she did not know” 

“Well, knowing has only deepened her love. 
Why not mine ? Hers can only be a faint sem- 
blance of the unfathomable love I cherish for 
you. Darling Pauline, I’d go to prison or to 
death with you or for you, but bear this sus- 
pense I cannot! Promise to set my mind at 
rest, dearest.” 

“I will promise to school my selfish soul to 
part with you — to divide it from your own 
pure, unspotted one. Yes, come to me two 
weeks from today. Two weeks — ah, how short 
they look!” 

“And I will carry this broken flower with 
me, place it in water, watch it revive, as I 
shall this one,” and before she could resist, he 
had madly kissed her brow, her hands and the 
lovely chestnut brown curls that had escaped 
their bounds. Hastily bidding her adieu, as 
Mrs. Danvers entered. 

A subsequent meeting with Miss Danvers 
suggested a conversation which was held in the 
park, whither he had invited her to accompany 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


53 


him. for Malcomb could not rest on account of 
the double anxiety as to Miss Hamersly’s men- 
tal and physical condition. Nothing of prom- 
ise could be obtained from Ila, only the gravest 
look of concern as she warned him of impending 
disappointment. 

“I am so deeply sorry for you, my dear 
friend, and have wept frequently at the sight 
of your growing affection, so pure and devoted, 
yet so unfortunate. Poor Pauline never intends 
to be married, and assures me of repeated ef- 
forts to disclose to you this resolve without 
result. ’ ’ 

“Most unmistakably has she impressed upon 
me her desire to remain as she is, but I can- 
not, will not, let her. Tell me why I am to 
suffer her loss, dear Ila.” 

“I dare not, for only her God must witness 
between you both, and He will, I trust, for- 
give me if I have erred in exposing you to such 
a trial of faith. Let Pauline be her own con- 
fessor. I will never breathe her secret to even 
my own mother, for* it is her Maker’s only!” 
This was spoken reverently with bowed head, 
and tears stood in Ila’s eyes. 

Without further consolation Malcomb re- 
turned, calling upon Dent before entering upon 
his duties. A glance at his friend induced him 
to lay aside his work with the question : 


54 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“Why are you looking so circumflumagated 
(as my old laundress says) ? What ails you, 
Malcomb? Sit down, man, and report if Miss 
Hamersly has been taken worse, or the Danvers 
home blown up? What ails you, my friend ?" 

“I am at outs with the fates in general, Dent, 
and must own the truth to you. Men of my 
temperament seldom speak of their inner selves, 
even to each other, holding a deep love of their 
choice as too sacred a subject to lay bare before 
their dearest friends. You must have been cog- 
nizant of my heart's secret long since. I love 
Pauline as my own soul! But why that grave 
look on your face? It distresses me.” 

“My good Malcomb, are you not suffering 
Caesar's sentiment to inflict itself on you?" 

“What can you mean, Dent? Tell me ex- 
actly your thoughts of her, sparing me all 
beating about the bush. I cannot stand it from 
you." 

“Sit down, Malcomb, then, and listen. When 
she arrived I saw what her sweet, deep-toned 
voice and look of pensive sadness was doing for 
you — saw your case was hopeless; to love one 
so beautiful and childlike in manner as she is 
means the love of your lifetime. There is the 
deep muffled calm in her nature of a woman 
who has seen a seam in the woof and warp of 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


55 


this life, hidden from us; yet I am convinced 
Miss Danvers knows all without betraying her 
friend, or allowing it to color her affection. She 
told me the other day of Dr. Atwell's rejected 
suit — a first disappointment to Mrs. Danvers, 
it seems, who thinks highly of him, and hoped 
Pauline would marry him. I do not wonder 
at his proffered love, for I admire the dear girl 
more than I can express to you. Malcomb, you 
want my opinion, not my advice — the worst 
kind of vice generally — my real estimate is that 
1 think her whiter than snow!” 

“Oh, my God, Dent, you are only just re- 
peating the sentence uttered here long since. 
Does the sentence imply all that one did; an- 
swer me!” 

“Malcomb, there is one sentence we all need 
to remember ; it is : ‘I shall be satisfied when 
I awake in His likeness.’ Are we quite sure 
of a daily striving after this likeness ourselves, 
before expecting perfect holiness in others? Let 
us take out the ‘beam’ or our sight might be- 
come too blurred to see the ‘mote.’ ” 

His whole frame shaking with emotion alarm- 
ed his interlocutor, who nevertheless deemed it 
advisable to go on, as kindly resting his hand 
on his shoulder, he continued: 

“Why give way like this, my best of broth- 


56 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ers? Are you and I so innocent in thought, 
word and deed as to presume to constitute our- 
selves a censorious committee on the unfortu- 
nate souls whose lives have perchance been 
blighted through ignorance of many things, 
thus allowing their names to fall out of this 
world’s code? My firm belief in the cause of 
many lovely young souls being drawn into er- 
ror is more through ignorance than wrong in- 
tention. Sin being in my creed a deliberate 
planning and plotting to draw down the souls 
of others to their harm and eternal undoing, 
wronging them in many ways. Who are we 
that hold judgment beyond His who condemns 
not? I am often tempted to believe harsh old 
judges, adverse criticisms, with Mrs. Grundy 
and capital punishment will all be relegated to 
a back seat in our fair old world yet. Our 
classification of sins being so far removed from 
His, who came to take them all away, and who 
lives hourly with folks you and I could not. 
Heaven forbid that I should be numbered with 
the ‘ fools who make a mock at sin. ’ The dan- 
ger is in my ignorance and failing to discrimi- 
nate. 

“We come so far short of fathoming the 
great mystery of perfect absolution, ‘To the 
pure, all things are pure,’ hence our blunder 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


57 


when a foolish misstep is accepted as real cul- 
pability. The folly of such a misstep hurls a 
poor girl or woman into a perfect hell of this 
world’s fabrication, while men — as we know 
well — are passing along in a heaven other 
women make for them on this social plane. This 
injustice must ever appeal to us — our sex de- 
manding all, and withholding so much. De- 
pend upon it, the scales will not always be 
‘loaded.’ If we have escaped seeing our names 
written up on the big social scandal slate, do 
not let us ignore the fact of cherishing sinful 
thoughts , which is our Maker’s gage and plumb- 
line! Does His eye look down upon us as 
clothed in the white robes of purity? Would 
He think us half as pure as the dear, snow- 
washed one walking far before us up that grand 
old white altar stairs where she will arrive be- 
fore us, or I mistake appearances? 

“God pity us all, in our high standards and 
low attainments. Let your soul answer for 
you as to a life with dear Pauline. Be it yours 
either to console or condone any past error or 
not. I wish it distinctly understood she is to 
me a dear and only little sister, whose fair 
name and sweet personality will always call 
forth my every effort to shield from a shadow 
of contumely or censure. What have we to do 


58 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


with her past ? Now is life. Now is hope. Now 
is love. Tomorrows go ere we grasp them. Our 
sun sets ere enjoyment of our labor is gathered 
in. Can we afford to distress ourselves over an 
old yesterday? 

“As a boy and youth you have always begged 
the help of Our Father, beseeching His guid- 
ance. Do you so far mistrust Him as to sup- 
pose yourself alone, or allowed to drift in this, 
the most solemn and interesting chapter of life ? 
No; His hand holds us day by day. He is 
guarding the door of both your lives. Follow 
on; fear not.” 

“ Thanks, my friend; I go away somewhat 
fortified to meet this trial. Do not expect me 
again until quite clear of these snags.” 

As he passed out into the busy world to meet 
its increasing duties, the kind eyes of the friend 
he left filled with misty tears, for with a strange 
premonition he saw in the distance Malcomb’s 
lonely future, and grieved at an approaching 
sorrow he could not define. With a powerful 
effort he shook off this gloomy foreboding as 
one of his natural afflictions and again turned 
to the letter received from the Rev. Cosgrove, 
which he reread, resolving to call on Mr. Dan- 
vers and lay his case before him, influenced by 
an intuition that news would follow his present 
communication from England. 


CHAPTER V. 


As Mrs. Danvers retired after Malcomb left, 
Ila entered the room, having just returned 
from a walk. “I have brought you this lovely 
bunch of fresh violets, dear, with Mr. Dent’s 
kindest love and wishes. He is coming to see 
you this evening. I told him you were sitting 
up, and fast recovering.” 

Glancing at her listener she observed the 
flushed cheek and tear-bedimmed eyes, taking 
her hands lovingly with the question: 

“What is it, dearie? Why have you been 
weeping ? ’ ’ 

“I am so sorry for Malcomb. It distresses 
me to know I cannot make him happy as he 
deserves. ’ ’ 

“You love him?” 

“Love him! Oh, Ila; he is the light of my 
life; yet I have to try so hard to extinguish 
this beautiful, earth-born light and live in the 
light of God’s countenance only, daily asking 
strength to do so. He is making it easier than 
it was. I can tell Malcomb now all the vain, 
foolish past ; in doing so, I shall seem like tak- 
59 


60 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ing farewell of my self, for he is not only a 
poor human being like me, but really second 
now to my thoughts of the Master/ V 

‘‘You are not going to take farewell of your- 
self, dear, or allow a morbid cobweb to enter 
this little head. You are quite sensible and 
just in telling him everything. His love will 
stand all tests.” 

“Ah, my friend, you forget he is a man, and 
even for Christ’s sake might forgive and con- 
done everything in another man’s wife, yet his 
own would have to be unfettered by such a 
chapter in it as mine.” 

“Do not doubt him, Pauline; take the good 
of life your Heavenly Father is sending. Be 
as happy as He wishes who ‘Remembers no 
more/ ” 

“It would be impossible,” said she, “to 
make others comprehend the real happiness I 
enjoy now, for ‘Eye hath not seen, ear hath 
not heard, the good things prepared for them 
that love Him. The Spirit itself beareth wit- 
ness with our spirit that we are the children of 
God; and if children, then heirs of God, and 
joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer 
with Him, that we may be also glorified to^ 
gether/ See the comfort your little Testament 
has given me!” 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


61 


“I am glad you find its teachings so helpful. 
My day would contain greater blunders, but for 
the morning lessons found there.” ' 

“I wish I could go back to the hospital in- 
stead of joining you at the seaside. There is so 
much' to do; time is too precious.’ ’ 

“Nay, take time to get strong,” replied Ila. 
“The Bungalow is already packed with be- 
longings, and Malcomb has hired a pony car- 
riage. We can drive every day. Papa enjoys 
the sea very much, and change is all you need.” 

Observing a cold shiver pass over her, she 
coaxed up the fire, resuming : 1 1 This shower is 
depressing, I cannot sew or read, as intended. 
Please tell me the romance promised if it does 
not recall associations that pain you.” 

“Nothing pains me now. Although I never 
wish to go there, the place remains only a 
dream of beauty.” 

“You cannot have forgotten Truax ” 

“Oh, no; he comes into the dream since he 
died. I believe he died.” 

“What gives you the impression, Pauline?” 

“It is inexplicable. The nearer I get to 
heaven, the nearer I seem to get to all souls 
washed and purified from earthly passions and 
all that offends God. Perhaps a Universalist 
would claim me as a follower (I’ve had no re- 


62 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ligious training). Christ came to seek and 
save all mankind. 

“I keep this ringing in my heart and pray 
for all who are guilty, especially for him, be- 
cause in a dream his eyes had a sad, frightened 
expression, so terrible to look at I awoke, cov- 
ering my own in the coverlid. Not for the 
world should any human soul suffer what he 
appeared to ; so I arose, knelt and prayed. Not 
quite understanding why we should call the 
Homan Catholics in error, when praying for 
the dead, I go on asking my Father for his 
pardon, even if he has passed into the great be- 
yond. There is no man on earth but has some 
spark of God within ; his light spark burned for 
many besides dear papa. The servants all idol- 
ized him, and old Lassane is faithful unto 
death where he loves. You see I am not coming 
to the strange coincidence of his losing Tan- 
bury by the same means he purloined the estate 
and castle. 

“ ‘The love that laughs at locksmiths.’ Erie 
Truax was a born adventurer. His parents poor 
Neapolitan peasants, he became the servant of 
an officer in a French regiment at Algiers. 
From thence he fled after a disreputable en- 
counter, by which he was the means of liberat- 
ing Lassane from prison and saving his life. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


63 


Arriving in London, he personated the captain 
he had served ; met a young French woman who 
had a grateful memory of his having rescued 
her little brother from drowning when they 
lived as neighbors in Algiers. 

“Marie Malfia was living as lady’s maid for 
Countess Alwinter, who had brought Lady 
Georgina Tanbury to be presented at the court 
of the young Queen. When Marie informed the 
Captain (?) — Jessuro, his real name — of the 
wealth and orphanage of the young heiress, she 
volunteered assistance in her capture, brought 
about by gaining an acquaintance with the fast 
young Earl Alwinter, whose gambling debts 
were in daily peril of coming to the knowledge 
of his mother; therefore, Jessuro purchased an 
introduction to his parent by assuming his lia- 
bilities, money being furnished temporarily by 
a Jew and paid by his clever gambling tricks 
almost immediately. The Earl Alwinter, be- 
lieving he was a gentleman and officer, intro- 
duced him to the ladies the following day, as 
they were walking in the home grounds. 

“His attentions to Lady Georgina by order 
of the Countess were well simulated, and aided 
the stranger in gaining a chance to converse 
with her, as they strolled along together, his 
company facilitated by Alwinter, who insisted 


64 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


on his staying to lunch. Lady Georgina was 
easily fascinated by the handsome young officer 
of polished manners, who always preferred 
visiting her in company of Earl Alwinter, see- 
ing the Countess was intending her for a daugh- 
ter in the future. Her knowledge of the fash- 
ionable world was yet unknown, having come 
direct there from a convent school. The few 
accidental and secret interviews obtained by 
the young people were successfully managed by 
Marie, unknown to her mistress or her son. 

“A secret marriage by a good priest soon fol- 
lowed, and they were gone from the Countess’ 
not too watchful eye. Arriving at Tanbury he 
assumed command very speedily. Marie was 
employed by Lady Georgina, who was de- 
votedly fond of her mistress, the truth as to 
the antecedents of her husband never being ac- 
knowledged to the world. Two daughters were 
born to her, the younger but a few months old 
when deprived of a mother. Passionately fond 
of the children, Marie remained with them, 
taught them when older, until masters were em- 
ployed, when she chaperoned them strictly as 
directed by their father. 

“The eldest — Lady Maud — was a quiet, un- 
demonstrative girl — a recluse at heart from 
childhood. Lady Pamela was full of vim and 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


65 


mischief — the delight of all within the castle, 
and Lassane’s torment. The Earl was seldom 
there. Lassane knew why — a woman in Algiers. 
The young ladies had riding lessons every fine 
morning ; the Lady Pamela would run her horse 
into a big clump of hawthorne bushes, tearing 
her habit in long rents; then laugh at Lassane’s 
remonstrance, saying: ‘The poor’ tailor has 
nine children, and will be glad to make me a 
new one. Order it from that role of green 
broadcloth he could not sell. I will burn holes 
in Maudie’s so she can have a new one also.’ 
Galloping away, a song of Naples ringing out 
to comfort the poor old teacher. 

“Reckless, yet fascinating, she must have 
been ; but I had no opportunity of seeing them, 
as the same old friend of their mother, Coun- 
tess Alwinter, had prevailed upon their father 
to have the girls presented at court by herself, 
so they went to London, their father always in 
evidence, lest prey escape him. Lady Maud 
cared nothing for gayeties of their station, 
joining in nothing her sister cared for. Many 
admirers flocked around Lady Pamela, whose 
choice seemed to fall on a bright young fellow 
of noble birth and bearing, whose introduction 
came through the Countess. Much against Erie 
Truax’s wishes, he called once or twice, seeing 


66 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


his daughter in his presence only. They were 
to return to Tanbury quite unexpectedly as he 
announced. These young people had done 
more talking by looks than words. Poor Lady 
Pamela felt so vexed at leaving the only little 
glimpse of the world of London and life she 
would see. She threw her arms lovingly around 
the neck of the Frenchwoman and wept out her 
secret, touching the heart of the woman by this 
nameless appeal, as she felt herself acting a 
mother’s part for one who had known no other 
real parent. 

“Touching the past, her memory had always 
resented Erie Truax’s conduct toward his 
young brother-in-law, also his indifference to 
the affections of his young wife. The following 
morning young Tremaine received a quaint lit- 
tle note, asking him to call and make his adieux 
to the Lady Pamela at eleven o’clock, as she 
could not write herself, but would explain, 
signing her name as ‘Marie, Lady Pamela’s 
Maid. ’ She sent it off that night. Awaiting the 
arrival of the young man behind some draperies 
in the reception room — the family being at 
breakfast — she speedily explained reasons for 
isolation of the girl, inviting correspondence 
under cover to her address; her letters assured 
safety and any help required guaranteed. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


67 


“Hastily, cleverly and carefully, she ran over 
the young Earl’s death, the daughter’s rights 
through their mother, the father’s care to 
keep them from knowing people, or their po- 
sition. All this light was thrown on ere the 
family left the breakfast table, results follow- 
ing quite rapidly. Her young charge was sur- 
prised a few days after settling down at the 
castle, to find a note on the table, placed there 
by Marie when dressing her hair. A sweet 
smile was reflected in the mirror. Taking the 
envelope she suddenly exclaimed: ‘No post- 
mark ! What can it mean ! Who brought this ? ’ 
Marie smiled her sweetest, as she acknowledged 
the intrigue, adding: ‘A Frenchwoman never 
enjoys anything so much as a good plot. Don’t 
be angry with old nursie. She will see you 
through if you keep your own council and are 
quite sure you love this good man. ’ 

“ ‘Oh, you dear, kind soul. How can I repay 
all you have done?’ 

“Kissing her affectionately, she applied her- 
self to an answer which, enclosed in the mailbag 
going through the master’s hands before sealing 
the bag evaded his suspicions, being addressed 
to general delivery in an assumed name — that 
of a woman. The Earl remained that year at 
Tanbury, perhaps in doubt as to the persever- 
ance of Tremaine. 


68 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“The young lady in a plain morning robe 
and sunbonnet passed her father on several oc- 
casions, as, basket in hand, Marie accompanied 
her, gathering nuts in the long strip of hazel 
I pointed out as we drove in the park. They 
would return with baskets filled, the girl’s bon- 
net swinging from her arm. The following day 
the walk was repeated, without a shade of sus- 
picion. A week passed, when Marie came run- 
ning, out of breath, in great consternation, 
screaming for Mr Truax. A man had broken 
the wall, carried off her young lady in a faint- 
ing condition; would they ride fast, north, 
where a carriage or cart-wheels rattled. Oh, 
she was overcome with fright — must sit down. 
Would they fetch Mr. Truax? 

“Without a moment’s hesitation he ordered 
his carriage and postillions, Lassane joining 
him. To Lassane belonged the credit of a mis- 
hap to a wheel throwing the carriage over after 
a few miles’ journey. The young folks having 
had two hours’ start before Marie gave the 
alarm, Gretna Green was reached before her 
irate parent caught them. Her marriage per- 
fectly valid, chagrined and vexed, he returned 
to Tanbury. His eldest daughter gone to be a 
nun. Marie left to respectfully console him, 
without a ghost of suspicion as to her part in 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


69 


the elopement. Marie is there now, I presume. 
You saw her when the jewels, etc., were deliv- 
ered to Lassane. Faithful as to her employer’s 
name and history, she is true to his daughter. 
To myself an impossible friend, kind but dis- 
tant, when coming to my servant for orders, to 
be sent from the castle weekly. The first smile 
was given me when I had courage to leave.” 

“What caused the death of the real Earl 
who was to have inherited the estates?” 

“He was cruelly treated by a Frenchman 
who was hired to keep by him always, impress- 
ing the idea upon his young mind that he was 
insane, making others believe this, by constant 
isolation, which broke the boy’s heart, rumor 
adding the atrocious theory of slow poison.” 

“What a terrible thing! I hope this recital 
has not tired you, dear.” 

“No. Thoughts of dear father go back to his 
favorite drive and the wood, where supersti- 
tious folks allege seeing the ghost of the mur- 
dered lad, left with his sister, orphans at an 
early age. Ah, what crimes are committed for 
money.” 

Mr. Dent’s voice recalled the girls to his ar- 
rival. His affectionate greeting contained a 
note of surprise at Pauline ’s change of ap- 
pearance. “You will soon feel strong and well 
at the seaside, I believe,” said he. 


70 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“My love of this cosy room forbids desire 
for salt air. I plead going back to work in- 
stead, unavailingly. ’ 9 

A week saw them comfortably settled in a 
roomy log house, some distance up a hillside 
from shore. All were enjoying a view of the 
sunset, seated on the porch, when Malcomb 
drove up and was cheerily welcomed. It was 
the evening of the day promised him as Paul- 
ine *s own time for allaying suspense ; and they 
had not met since its appointment. In her 
bright look of acceptance, as a drive was pro- 
posed, he failed to note the chill that shook her 
delicate form, or the trembling hand given, 
when lifting her into the carriage. Gathering 
her wraps more closely about her, his horse 
turned shoreward, she said: 

* ‘ No, no, not that way, please ; drive through 
this pretty lane to the top of the hill.” 

“The shore is delightful. Do you not love 
the sea?” 

“Not now; I cannot bear the sound of the 
waves. They seem to chant the deep requiem 
of souls passing on, out into a great unknown, 
like the deep bass tones of a thousand organs in 
God’s great, awful cathedral. I never look at 
the sea, so restless, so changeful; please take 
me away from it,” she moaned. “Take me 
home.” 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


71 


Greatly surprised at such an unlooked-for 
outburst, he lovingly placed an arm around 
her quivering, shrinking form, saying: “Cer- 
tainly, my girlie, you shall go tomorrow. It 
does not agree with you out here; change is 
not restoring your strength or nerves.” 

Recovering her usual calm in a few moments, 
she slid her hand into his, with the remark: 

“There is no pain left, dear Malcomb, in hav- 
ing to tell you what I promised. All pain and 
sorrow is gone since telling it to the Master. 
Life is a new delight. My tears wiped forever 
away. We are looking at this glorious sunset. 
Even so my little day of earthly life goes down, 
while your morn will arise with great and noble 
possibilities; only deepened and strengthened 
by having me come into your life this little 
while. God never lets the heart of one of His 
dear children enter into the life of another, un- 
less to compass some design He knows of. Per- 
haps your love and sympathy for all the erring 
and sorrow-stricken who come in your pathway 
will more fully find exercise. Be patient, dear- 
est, with all poor souls. Consecrate your tal- 
ents to Christ’s service, who has saved, blessed 
and comforted me; instead of thinking first of 
earth’s commendation or financial success. Now 
turn your dear face toward me that I might 


72 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


take one last, long look at you in this, the si- 
lence of God’s blessed all-out-doors.” 

In a few sentences her secret was divulged, 
with the information added. “Ila will tell you 
all attendant circumstances. I asked her to do 
so tomorrow.” 

Unable to control his emotion, Malcomb 
snatched her wildly in his arms. Crying out, 
“Oh, my God!” then burst into tears he vainly 
tried to stay. 

“Darling,” he said, “don’t say again that 
you are going from me. I cannot lose the light 
of life. Try to gain strength. How can I en- 
dure the parting you hint at?” But even as he 
was speaking, Pauline’s tired head drooped 
upon his shoulders, and ere he realized the fact 
she was fast asleep, exhausted by her efforts at 
talking. 

He took her home to New York the following 
day, Ila accompanying them. All hoped a few 
days would suffice to recuperate her, but a 
physician Ila privately called in, unknown to 
Malcomb, shook his head gravely when his ver- 
dict was requested. “A question of a few 
weeks only, my dear Miss Danvers. Some he- 
reditary tendencies to fight. Mother died of 
rapid consumption, she tells me; case entirely 
hopeless, sorry to report. Great sympathy for 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


73 


Malcomb — fine fellow. Strangely beautiful 

girl. Unlike any other he will meet.” 

Tears were inadmissable, as the young in- 
valid demanded Ha’s best efforts. She kept her 
own counsel, seeing nothing could induce Mal- 
comb to admit danger. His constant presence 
every possible hour snatched from duty gave 
no hint of change in his love. Pauline seemed 
content to allow him to bestow every endear- 
ment unrepulsed. Buoyed up by hope in tak- 
ing her South ere winter came, he entreated her 
for an early day on which a quiet wedding 
could take place. To this she made no objection 
or preparation, constantly mentioning her hap- 
piness, as apart from this world and as “seeing 
Him who is invisible.” Always cheery and 
bright, the friends were misled, Ila excepted. 
Dainty flimsy white was chosen for a simple 
gown, tears bedewing its final preparation as 
she laid it out for the early morning wedding. 
Dent, as witness, brought lovely white blossoms 
for the quiet sitting-room to which the family 
Jiad returned. 

The clergyman — a dear friend — came in to 
conduct the ceremony. Unshed tears were in all 
eyes, and a solemn hush prevailed the room. A 
grave, sad look was in Malcomb ’s face, as she 
faltered on each answer during the service, 




74 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


trembling visibly as the plain gold ring was 
placed on her finger. All were kneeling at the 
concluding prayer, but on rising were sur- 
prised that Pauline remained on her knees. 
They observed her quivering and Malcomb 
stepped forward to take her in his arms, only 
to discover the soul had fled. With a deep groan 
he would have fallen, had not Dent caught him, 
gently getting him out of the room, while Mr. 
Danvers and the clergyman obtained medical 
aid — alas, of no avail. The bridal gown was a 
shroud. The white blossoms covered a bier. 


CHAPTER YI. 


The shock of Pauline’s sudden death affected 
none of the family so much as Mr. Danvers. 
She had been with him so much of late. Their 
quiet talks and pleasant reading hour in his 
study endeared her memory to him as a daugh- 
ter. All observed his listless, feeble form un- 
dergoing a change as winter approached, taking 
especial care of him. Dent, seeing their anxiety, 
without sharing it, spent every evening he 
could spare at their home. Although no formal 
engagement had been entered into with Miss 
Danvers, they understood each being necessary 
to the other, agreeing to await communications 
from England as he hesitated in approaching 
her father. The quiet joy and sympathy in 
this condition of affairs was unbroken until the 
bright spring days came without further intel- 
ligence. Dent could wait no longer, therefore 
called one evening on her father. 

Mr. Danvers had excused himself from din- 
ner, remaining in his study, a slight pain in 
his side and head being complained of. At 
sight of Mr. Dent’s card he aroused himself 
75 


76 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


from a listless attitude, saying as his friend en- 
tered his den: 

“So glad to see you, boy. Yes, a little un- 
der the weather, but a sight from a good friend 
is excellent medicine. You have come to talk 
of Ila — ah, I am surmising the purport of this 
private interview, you see.” 

“I wish it were as delightful a subject I had 
to begin on,” said Dent, looking at his host in- 
tently, as the remark or question struck him 
as so unlike the man. “I am instead obliged to 
talk to you of myself, therefore requiring the 
patience of my listener. After a long acquain- 
tance with this family it must sometimes have 
surprised them no mention of connections or 
antecedents have ever been made by me. My 
errand tonight is to say I really have none, but 
discovered when searching England — whither 
the matter took me — that I was a ‘Nobody. 1 
Not daring to presume on asking Miss Danvers 
to be a nobody’s partner, I have delayed ask- 
ing her hand. My request is, that I be al- 
lowed the happiness so long desired in gaining 
your consent to my marriage with the dear 
daughter so devoted to you both, and so hard 
'for you to give up, if I am successful in prov- 
ing I had respectable parentage, for an assur- 
ance of sympathy prompts the telling. I was 
born in Cheltenham poorhouse.” 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


77 


Seeing his host sat very silent, gravely rest- 
ing his head on his hand, without a word of 
reply or comment, the heart of the pleader mis- 
gave him. He arose to take leave, having gone 
over all' details of his fruitless search in Eng- 
land, and the items contained in the letter; his 
mental conclusion was dismay, and a proud 
regret at doing so. As he stood a few moments 
in hesitation whether to offer his hand before 
saying “Good-night,” a faint voice uttered his 
name in a kind of strained manner: 

“Don’t go, Dent. Don’t go. The pain, not 
your position, believe me, is the trouble. You 
could not be other than you are to me if an 
earldom awaited you just around the corner. 
These things go out with our short lives. To- 
night they seem very far away from me. Life 
looks so much like this open book. The leaves 
were ruffled up over my hand by a draught 
from the window, revealing the plain, clean 
page at the end. I was set to wondering if be- 
yond this life some new page will be allowed us 
to begin writing on. Tumbled pages are very 
real in all our lives and something warns me 
I am too tired to straighten them all out or go 
on with the reading.” 

He halted awhile, as if to gain strength ; his 
voice was quite low, Dent requesting instantly 
to be allowed to call a doctor. 


78 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


“No, only Malcomb — dear Malcomb — they — 
the dear ones — be good to them. Come and — 
and live here. Affairs are all in order — call 
them — Ila told me of her love — dear girl — take 
care of her. Mother — Dent — all goodbye ” 

And ere another sentence escaped him he 
fell over into the arms of his friend, whose ring 
had brought in the family. Consternation over- 
came them all. He lay unconscious for some 
time. Malcomb, arriving, administered some 
restoratives, after which he revived, sufficiently 
to speak in a low whisper. Taking the hand of 
his loving wife he gently placed it over his 
heart, with his trembling left hand, the use of 
his right having left him with his power of 
audible speech; he sought Ila’s, which he held 
a few moments as if in prayer, then placed it 
over her mother’s, whispering Dent’s name as 
he looked toward him. He came forward, tears 
betokening his great grief as he did so. He 
spoke most regretfully of talking too long and 
perhaps causing this collapse. 

“Oh, no, no. Pray do not blame yourself. 
I knew some of your secret from Malcomb. Do 
not trouble any more about your earthly par- 
entage. Live closer to your Heavenly Father, 
whose blessing rests upon us all.” 

Then laying his hand over Ila’s he whis- 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


79 


pered, “ God bless you. Pray for me now, for 
my Pilot is waiting.’ ’ 

With a sweet smile as ever graced an in- 
fant’s innocent face, this gentle soul passed 
away into the keeping of his Maker, leaving 
great sorrow behind him. 

“In assuming cares of desolate and afflicted 
ones we emerge from our own dejection,” ar- 
gued Dent, as the plan of inducing Malcomb to 
remain an inmate of the domicile suggested it- 
self. Mrs. Danvers cordially pressed the mat- 
ter to an acceptance, thereby relieving Dent, 
for awhile, of responsibility, until he adjusted 
himself to circumstances. Moreover, he was 
unusually busy over some municipal frauds, 
taxing his legal capacities. 

Standing one morning, a few weeks after, in 
his office, intent on some legal paper, with his 
face opposite the entrance, a man entered with- 
out knocking, and before he could look up, ex- 
claimed or yelled, rather: “Horace! Horace, 
by G — !” in a most excited tone. Seating him- 
self, and wiping perspiration from his brow, 
he waved a hand, saying, “Wait a bit.” As 
Dent gazed at this stranger a thumping at his 
heart prevented his accosting him. Looking 
squarely at the figure standing before him, ex- 
citement somewhat abated, he drew a picture 


80 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


from his inner vest pocket, handing it to Dent, 
with the peremptory request: 

“Now look in that mirror over there before 
you speak. Tell yourself who that resembles. ,, 
Many would have considered this interloper 
crazy. Not so Dent. He tenderly handled the 
picture, doing as requested. The faces were as 
like as twin brothers. With a wistful look of 
inquiry the picture remained in his hand. 

“Yes, you can see who it was. I have come 
across the ocean to find you.” 

Still held by some undefined feeling of bit- 
terness that banished all interest in possible 
discovery, Dent stood silent and thoughtful, 
adding greatly to the embarrassment of the 
man, who was perfectly dressed, remarkably 
handsome, with snowy hair and beard. 

“Ye are not glad I came to find ye, eh?” 

“Tell me who you are, sir.” 

“Don’t know myself, it seems. Wish I 
hadn’t come to this God-forsaken country. You 
act as get-out-o ’-here as if I was a thief.” 

“No, sir, you puzzle me. Please explain 
your errand.” 

“Explain nothing. Go to thunder.” 

Hastily seizing his hat in evident disappoint- 
ment, he would have departed had not Dent’s 
memory and recognition gone back to Mrs. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


81 


Travels description of the old army surgeon 
of Bath. Extending his hand apologetically he 
said: 

“Your card would have explained, saving 
me from apparent indifference. You are Dr. 
Dent, of Bath.” 

“Well, what of it. Do you want to know 
anything more? If so, come down off your high 
stilts. How do you know but I am your grand- 
father ? A pretty sort of welcome ye give me ! 
Ashamed, are ye? And not glad to see me? 
I ’ll soon get out of this mess. Don’t like the 
blamed country or its ways.” 

“I am sorry, but too much taken by surprise, 
sir. The difficulty is obvious; how to reconcile 
your position with the terrible discovery of my 
poor little mother’s death in Cheltenham poor- 
house, where I was born.” 

“Poorhouse, by ! Great Scott! You 

don’t mean that! I have sought her all these 
years — spent hundreds of pounds — searched 
every institution. Advertised, offering big re- 
wards. Did all mortal could. The poorhouse! 
Poor Horace. My poor boy; to die there!” 

With this outburst, sobs shook his form, as 
leaving him Dent went to answer the phone. 
On entering the room again his visitor was 
found sitting with his head resting on his 


82 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


hands, the storm of grief and remorse stilled 
for the present. 

“Come and take lunch with me, sir. We will 
enter into explanations later. 1 * 

Very quietly and reluctantly he accompa- 
nied Dent, until, seeing they were about to en- 
ter a restaurant, he suddenly turned away dis- 
gusted, remarking: “It is you must join me 
at the hotel Waldorf,” where, thinking it best 
to humor his mood by accepting, they ad- 
journed. 

Much put out by Dent’s refusing all intoxi- 
cants, they lunched in silence, after which a 
mutual enlightenment was arranged for in the 
evening. 

Somewhat disappointed in the brusque boor- 
ishness, to his notion, of this specimen of the 
old country professional man, his manners and 
general make-up offending his refined taste, 
Dent was averse to the meeting purposed. His 
visit to England had so embittered and angered 
him, it was difficult of control in the presence 
of this stranger. The death of Mr. Danvers, 
the assurance of Ila’s love and Malcomb’s es- 
teem, had greatly diminished his ardor in pro- 
mulgating a search for relatives. A grief or 
anxiety of long duration often numbs one’s 
keenest sensibilities, or gradually wears them 
out. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


83 


A few years previous to visiting Cheltenham, 
Dent would have given all he possessed for the 
discovery of some ancestor; now his uppermost 
thought was that of aversion to the man he had 
met. 

Entering the elegant room occupied by him 
at the hotel, he was abruptly accosted with: 

“If your skypilot friend had only told me 
of your miserable discovery, I never would 
have sought you out, thereby saving a meazly 
feeling of chagrin and disaffection, manifesting 
itself. Make no apologies, sir,” seeing Dent 
was about to speak. 

“I have none to make you, Dr. Dent. I 
simply require some light on the unhappy cir- 
cumstance of being born in so humble a place, 
costing the life of a poor, little frightened 
mother.” 

“0, Lor’, don’t,” said he, putting up his 
two hands pleadingly. “I had despaired of 
finding any trace of her, accepting at last the 
report of her suicide. Sit down. I must make 
a painful start, making short work of it. 
Horace was my idol, my only one. 

“We worship idols ’till we find them clay; 
Then to bewail that worship wherefore pray.” 

“Horace had everything in the world to 


84 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


make him happy — was brought up as a gentle- 
man, went to college, had every wish gratified. 
Oh, how I loved him ! Not only for his saintly, 
sweet mother’s sake, whom I adored, but he 
was such a companionable lad, so ready to 
yield his own pleasure to mine, so gentle. 

“We lived in Bristol, but had a summer 
place at Clifton, where he must have met your 
mother — a Manx girl, taken when a child from 
a fisherman’s home by a wealthy man without 
family, who educated her well — possibly in- 
tending to make her his own daughter, but un- 
fortunately he fell in love with a widow, a 
fiend, with a fiendish daughter, requiring a 
home governess. Aseneth Rosco, the little 
Manx lady, was employed in this capacity. 
They treated her abominably. The pity that is 
so near akin to love drew Horace to her rescue, 
I have no doubt. The jealousy, cruel as the 
grave, caused the death of both. This fiendish 
pupil fell desperately in love with my poor 
boy, would waylay him on his return of an 
evening or seek him in the grounds adjoining 
their own. We lived very near. The governess 
was discharged — gone — Horace married her. 

“Many months passed before he told me. I 
was furious! Ordered him out of my sight. 
He went, never to return but once. His al- 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


85 


lowance cut off, they lodged with an old Irish 
woman. He went to Bristol to seek employ- 
ment as a clerk. The girl pupil took advan- 
tage of his absence and my blind rage, to write 
a letter saying Horace had fled, leaving her 
destitute, and I was going to drive her out of 
the place. Hastily parting with her landlady 
and leaving this letter behind her, no trace 
was ever found of her after. The letter so 
pointed to me as the cause, that Horace rushed 
into the room wild with fury and excitement; 
not being able to convince the boy of my hav- 
ing no part in the girl's disappearance, in a 
terrible passion he left me never to return, or 
know the just cause of his loss. 

“That wicked girl, dying of fever, confessed 
to writing the letter, and in response to ques- 
tions as to where the poor thing was hidden, 
said: ‘I cannot tell. She was much beloved 
by a servant of ours, who married and lived at 
Fairfield. ’ So I wrote to her, finding that she 
had removed from that place a week before 
Aseneth's disappearance. After this confession 
I sought the Irish woman who, believing me 
guilty, flew into a passion with a pan of scald- 
ing water, telling me I was a wicked ole spal- 
peen to kill the innocent young creatur who’d 
made a hole in the Severn — the river that cov- 


86 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


ered many such victims — I was to get out! 
Finding the priest after some time, I obtained 
proof of Horace’s marriage. Here it is. 

“Once I imagined she might have gone to 
the Isle of Man, so started there, hoping, if 
found, she might lure back my boy, so bitterly 
regretted and missed. The stern Manxman, 
after listening attentively and solemnly to my 
account stood a moment, then raising his right 
hand as if uttering a curse in his own tongue — 
which seems to stick fast — he pointed to the 
ship in the harbor, saying : “ Go ; begone before 

dark, or” showing an ugly weapon. I well 

understood the island was unsafe for me and 
went on board. It was the best policy. 

“There is little more to tell. I loved my 
boy, left motherless at two years of age and 
do you suppose I would have left his son to 
the mercy of the cruel world — to be brought up 
or dragged up a nobody, or nobody’s cousin, 
when I could have died for Horace, after my 
accursed pride was swallowed? I had no warn- 
ing of the possibility of the marriage, had no 
right to expect such a step, long forgiven. My 
only satisfaction in coming is the knowledge 
his wife did not commit suicide. Your resem- 
blance to your father is remarkable, except 
the sunny smile I can never see on your sober 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


87 


face. Poor Horace enlisted in the army after 
my harshness and died abroad of fever. Never 
will I seek you again. 

“I go back to die, for hearts like mine never 
break — bless you, no ; they just burn them- 
selves out. Remorse! Ah, may God keep you 
from the hell I have endured. But for my 
faithful old manservant, I’d be wearing a 
straight-jacket today. He has saved me, when 
years ago I resorted to intoxicants, and the 
sight of a child on the street resembling your 
father once drove me so mad, this man, his wife 
helping him, got me into a boat by using a 
drug, dressing me as a fisherman. I was bound 
hand and foot and rowed down to Salt Ash, in 
hiding from the authorities, who sought to 
have me placed in a lunatic asylum. Once I 
beat poor Jim terribly, but his wife locked me 
into my room, tied down to the bedstead, in- 
toxicated, until Jim recovered his ability to 
guard me. Remorse is hell ! Excuse my ab- 
rupt departure. This interview keels me over. 
Meet me tomorrow at the Cunard steamer, sail- 
ing at twelve. I have papers to deliver to 
you.” 

And in a moment he had left the room. 

Dent was unable to speak for the tears chok- 
ing utterance. He sent a ’phone message to 
Ila, finding her up and alone, and repaired to 


88 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


the Danvers home, utterly breaking down in 
attempting to disclose his interview with the 
stranger. With the quick intuition of her 
sweet, noble nature, she sought out the better 
plan of retaining the lone, unhappy man. 
Without hinting her intention to Dent, the fol- 
lowing morning, just as breakfast was over, Ila 
obtained an entrance to the parlor of the Wal- 
dorf and introduced herself quietly and in a 
most attractive way, as Dent’s betrothed wife, 
who came with her mother’s invitation to bear 
him off to their home. To have announced 
herself less than his intended partner for life, 
would have defeated her plans and hindered 
recognition of her kindness. The best man- 
nered gentleman in the world could not have 
exceeded his perfectly graceful way of falling 
into her little trap. 

“You see, the terrible revelation and sud- 
denness of all this, has so completely put Al- 
fred Dent at a disadvantage, that his tender 
hearted sympathy and goodness toward you in 
coming over is lost sight of. Come home with 
us and spend the day. My mother is very sad 
at the loss of my dear father, not long since, 
that a visit from you under such interesting 
circumstances will be most agreeable. I know 
and appreciate all it must have cost a proud 
soul like yours to come here.” 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


89 


Gently laying a delicate hand on his arm as 
these words were spoken, she looked steadily 
into those honest, truthful eyes and, taking his 
hat, he politely followed her lead. 

Who could resist Ila Danvers ’ pleading 
when her soul-lit purpose shone in her lovely 
face. Mrs. Danvers tactfully entered into her 
daughter’s strategem for keeping the lone 
man in this country until Alfred Dent had 
somewhat overcome his dislike, or a better ac- 
quaintance with each other had developed. 
Malcomb presided courteously at the plain 
lunch served, after which their guest com- 
plained of weariness ; excusing himself for leav- 
ing for his hotel to “sleep it off,” as he re- 
marked. The unusual excitement of talking 
on the night previous deprived him of slumber 
entirely. 

“You do not go to a noisy hotel, sir, to get 
a noonday rest. Come with me at once, into a 
cosy corner, so quiet and comfortable, one falls 
asleep when not tired.” Parting the heavy 
portieres, Ila led the way with a gentle hand 
on his arm, into her deceased father’s study, 
where pillows of down and a luxurious divan 
awaited him. So long unaccustomed to such 
sweet ministrations, it was with a half studi- 
ousness, half submissiveness, he accepted her 


90 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


good offices, as lowering the shades she quietly 
closed the entrance, a heavy sigh audible as he 
rested his head. 

Near their dinner hour their guest emerged, 
frankly accepting an invitation to remain on 
condition he be allowed to send for his port- 
manteau, in order to dress suitably. Dent 
joined the little home party, struck with the 
transformation before him of a most correct 
and perfect appearing gentleman, whose whole 
bearing and manner suggested nothing of the 
boorish individual met at his offices. Had his 
years been spent in England this metamor- 
phose would have been less puzzling, affecting 
him differently. A well-bred man is never a 
tiger in the society of ladies, whereas he can 
be anything he chooses, or assumes, among his 
fellows, if exciting circumstances provoke. 
Seated next Mrs. Danvers, with true ease of 
manner and polite table amenities, all were 
charmed with his conversation and witty bits 
of satire, as to his encounters in New York. . 

Dent was very silent, taking no part in Ila’s 
attempt at making their guest feel at home; 
indeed, her lover never before appeared at such 
an angle. Malcomb took him to task, as soon as 
they left Mrs. Danvers* home. 

“Be sociable, man. See the sands of life 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


91 


are running low. There must be no real barrier 
of resentment left in your nature undestroyed 
by prayer and struggle. Why demonstrate it 
thus?” 

“I can’t help it — can’t explain my aversion, 
Malcomb. Every time my heart attempts a step 
toward the man, I feel as if I was walking over 
two coffins; their hollow sound mocks his for- 
getfulness. Think of my unhappy young 
parents whose lives were crushed out of them. 
I catch myself shivering when his voice sounds 
in my ear. The awful agony of father’s soul 
on realizing his loss. All, all, goes through 
me; it is difficult to remain in that man’s pres- 
ence. Nothing can bring them back to us; 
nothing compensate for his brutality; I shall 
never get over this deep aversion.” 

“Yes, you will; you must. Ila will bring out 
the best left in that man’s soul, by excluding 
in her own memory and consciousness all he 
failed in. This is her way. Appealing and 
believing in the good only, she eliminates evil 
by simply ignoring its potentiality. If ever 
so great a criminal came under her influence, 
my opinion is, she would ere long teach him to 
believe there was a great portion of his soul his 
Good Father held a mortgage on — the Devil 
couldn’t find it possible for his emissaries to 


92 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


foreclose any claim upon. Following good 
David, she imagines no evil — hates evil imag- 
inings; hence, being able to conquer their ex- 
istence in other hearts by great love in her own. 
You scarcely comprehend Ila’s greatness, I 
fear, Dent. Follow her lead by bringing a soul 
inside ; not dreaming he is beyond coming. She 
will restore that nature, setting it back upon 
its own high pedestal before we see what she 
is doing.” 

True, this dear girl went on searching for 
some chord to set in tune, the dried-up sym- 
pathies responding unawares to her childlike 
call. Hungry for love, without the slightest 
comprehension of his need, there sprung up 
between these two an undercurrent of soul kin- 
ship he could only account for by remaining 
in the congenial atmosphere, without a desire 
to return. Ila deftly suggested some new 
pleasure when departure was imminent, excus- 
ing her desperate wishes for his company by 
their loneliness. Week after week passed until 
at dinner one evening, the delights of the love- 
ly watering-places were extolled by a guest 
starting for Atlantic City. Listening attentive- 
ly, Dr. Dent awaited the departure of their 
visitor before propounding a plan greatly sur- 
prising all the household. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


93 


“Why not pack up and get away to the 
water? I have always lived near the salt sea 
air. It would give me an idea that your coun- 
try is worth visiting, perhaps, if I saw more of 
it. Let us all take a month’s trip at my ex- 
pense. Mr. Malcomb, what do you say?” 

“That I would be most happy to join, and 
Dent here, also, for I’m sure he’s working too 
hard. Let the ladies select our quarters and 
also decide locality.” 

“I would prefer our visiting three instead 
of one watering place, winding up last at Niag- 
ara,” suggested Dr. Dent. 

Plans were soon made ; time of leaving 
agreed on, Mrs. Danvers seemingly forgetful 
for a time of her deep sorrow and loss. The 
morning following their decision Dr. Dent 
called early on Ila to say: 

“I don’t like going in odd numbers. That 
young Malcomb is a fine fellow; his attentions 
to your mother so like a son. I wish you could 
think of some nice young girl we could induce 
to go along. Think it over and get her to pack 
up. I am in for a good time.” 

So cheerfully and one-of-us did this sound, 
Ila held out both her hands to him, saying: 
“You dear, good soul. How can we repay 
such thought and kindness!” 


94 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


This was how Gracie Godney obtained her 
summer’s outing. An orphan friend of Ha’s, 
neither rich, accomplished or very, very hand- 
some, but gold through every fiber of her be- 
ing — a girl all women loved, whom Malcomb 
had never met. 

After a truly delightful month* the family 
again enjoyed the quiet of home, to which set- 
tlement had scarcely returned, when a stranger 
called to see Mrs. Danvers. 

“ ‘Williamson, London?’ I know of no one 
by this name,” she remarked, as the visitor 
was shown in. 

.“Madame, I am searching New York for a 
young woman named Pauline Hamersley, af- 
ter two years’ advertising and fruitless seeking 
through England and the Continent. One of 
my _ clerks happened, at a party, to meet a 
pupil from a school who mentioned her name. 
This clue was followed, the lady principal find- 
ing this address by mere accident, left there 
by your daughter. Never had it occurred to 
any one to think of her in America.” 

“I regret to say the young lady you seek 
is dead. She died on her wedding day, just 
after the ring was placed on her finger.” 

“Her husband! Where is he?” 

“I will send him to you,” replied his host, 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


95 


withdrawing from their interesting talk, after 
duly performing an introduction. 

“Mr. Williamson, be seated. You have busi- 
ness with me?” 

“I have, sir. My voyage to this country was 
to find a Miss Pauline Hamersley, who, I am 
informed by the lady of the house, died as 
Mrs. Malcomb. . I have, therefore, to announce 
you are heir to the inheritance left her by Erie 
Truax, who searched England and the Conti- 
nent for this young lady, in order to make her 
his wife, and whose image seemed constantly 
before him, with that of her dying father, as 
he passed away. 

“Injured by a fall from his carriage in 
Genoa, I was sent for, arriving a week only 
before his demise. His will was made during 
this time and duly attested. Some circumstances 
connected with his position might be of inter- 
est. He was suffering mental worry over a 
lawsuit instituted by his son-in-law to recover 
half the Tanbury estate, rightfully his wife’s, 
through Lady Georgina’s decease — her mother. 
An older sister, Lady Maud, becoming a nun. 
the Church looked after her interest ; my chief 
desire and concern being to carry out to the 
letter every wish directed by my late friend 
and patron. The elopement of Lady Pamela 


96 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


with Captain Tremaine of the Guards, two 
years previous to the death of her father, in- 
censed him greatly. . The young infant son 
becoming heir to the Tanbury estates and title, 
once in possession of Lady Georgina, his grand- 
mother. 

“During my late client’s marriage, with 
commendable financial ability he acquired the 
large estate in Northumberland as his private 
holding, together with coal mines in Wales; 
also a large and valuable collection of works 
of art, jewels and silver. These personal be- 
longings are in safe custody awaiting the claim 
of Miss Hamersley. She is dead. I have, there- 
fore, to deliver up my stewardship to her legal 
heir as soon as affidavits from clergyman and 
witnesses can be obtained.” 

“I do not wish — that is — the matter of ac- 
ceptance is too painful — I cannot.” 

* 1 There is no way around it, sir, unless it be 
to throw a bone for the dogs in chancery to 
nibble at, which is doing my deceased patron 
a great wrong — we should not wrong the dead. 
I obviously have taken you unawares; it seems 
more expedient for me to leave you until to- 
morrow at this hour, when further details can 
be entered into, giving time for adjustment of 
the inevitable burden you feel thrust upon you. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


97 


its effects on you strangely at variance with 
men generally.” 

There was little doubt of Mr. Williamson’s 
knowing all the circumstances connected with 
the bequest to the dead girl, although he tact- 
fully allowed all reference to these to remain 
untouched upon. An English family lawyer’s 
particular trait of character, bred into his pro- 
fession, well illustrating an old Persian pro- 
verb: “I am the master of all I conceal, the 
slave of all I reveal.” 

After his caller departed there seemed such 
a fog over his understanding, he felt so thor- 
oughly out of humor, an interview with Dent 
occurred to him as necessary. He explained 
the strange predicament this lawyer had placed 
him in, and his repugnance at accepting the 
wealth offered. 

1 ‘It is not offered, Malcomb, but thrust upon 
you in a way only an idiot could throw off. 
There is no choice in .the matter. Would you, 
in the first place, have the brutality to throw 
back into the teeth of so poor a wretch as 
Erie Truax this ballast to his ship of conscience 
— tossed out at last in mute appeal — tender re- 
gretfulness of past error and tardy recogni- 
tion? How can we tell he is not able to see 
your disposition of this his sin offering — for 


98 


NOBODY'S COUSIN 


such I read it? Take this wealth. Use it. 
Are there no poor waifs — incurables, cripples, 
wretched souls in this city for whom a home 
could be given or rescue from summer heat 
or crushing crowd? Would it not be foolish, 
nay, wicked, to allow squeamish scruples on 
your part to throw this wealth into chancery? 
Chancery in England means hell! Get out of 
your morbid hesitation and nonsense. Think of 
the miserable sinner’s motive; not of himself. 
Follow his legal adviser, evidently faithful to 
his trust, as he will be to your interest. Go 
as he directs and see for yourself; develop- 
ments suggest themselves. It might not suit 
your taste to live in England, hence advisa- 
bility of disposing later, profitably, of what 
has dropped upon your luckless head unsought. 
‘Mercenary?’ you say? No; it is not. You 
could not change your nature if half the little 
island fell into your indifferent lap. All will 
be spent for others. Perhaps that is why you 
are singled out as its usurer; others might not 
place it in the same great bank!” 

There was no arguing the cause with Dent; 
therefore, acquiescence appeared inevitable ; 
yet many duties had to be disposed of before 
a visit to England could be considered. 


CHAPTER VII. 


The English lawyer returned to make fur- 
ther arrangements, Malcomb intending a later 
departure. 

The delightful month spent in close com- 
panionship had drawn Dent so much nearer 
to his loved one, life became an impossibility 
without her; the year of mourning concluded, 
he begged her decision for a quiet home wed- 
ding. To this Mrs. Danvers invited his respect- 
ed grandfather to remain, which he agreed to, 
on condition the pair would accompany him on 
his voyage home to England as a wedding trip, 
a plan Ila was charmed to accept, but had 
great difficulty in persuading Dent to enter 
into; indeed, a mild threat involving three 
months ’ delay in her marriage had to be re- 
sorted to. Many an hour’s shopping did the 
elderly pair start out to accomplish, many a 
mysterious package stored away. Their visi- 
tor entered so entirely into every detail as to 
furnish daily remonstrance at expenditure, met 
by a jolly: ‘‘This wedding is- the only- bit. of 
reah good- time I’ve had for twenty-five years. 

99 


100 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


Please let me alone. I’ll pay for just what I 
like. No use to bother me.” 

The folly of buying thin, flimsy stuff for a 
wedding dress disquieted him considerably, so 
he strode forth with Mrs. Danvers to hunt up 
what he considered the proper thing, selecting 
a heavy white silk with elegant lace, a lovely 
diamond pin also to “fix the neck/ ’ as he said. 
Ila was delighted at pleasing him, although her 
own sense of fitness would have to be outraged. 
His choice of the palest, daintiest pink and 
white with lace for Miss Godney was assisted 
in by Mrs. Danvers, also the selection of a love- 
ly set of pearls. 

Ila had previously suggested her mother 
should wear gray silk, but found it remained 
undecided what her dress would be — a smile 
as questioned, and ‘ 1 wait and see, dear, ’ ’ was 
all she vouchsafed. Dr. Dent disliked gray, 
calling it “sad color.” As they were about to 
enter a silversmith’s — as he called it — when the 
two were making purchases, he restrained Mrs. 
Danvers, saying: 

“No need buying silver; lots of it at home; * 
belongs to the boy, anyhow; came from his 
grandmother’s folks — old Lady Britford — 
chest full at my bankers.” 

The young people were to leave an hour after 
the ceremony, joining Dr. Dent the following 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


101 


day on board a Cunarder. Poor Malcomb’s 
feelings were considered in selecting the din- 
ing-room and another minister, lest the mem- 
ory of poor Pauline should be brought too for- 
cibly to mind. White blossoms, too, entirely 
left out, only a few pink roses in evidence, for 
he was to be best man, with Gracie as brides- 
maid. 

Mrs. Danvers had insisted on doing all the 
packing without allowing Ila any interference, 
her wise excuse being her daughter had enough 
to do with her dressmaker, and leaving outside 
duties to hands of love among her poor, who 
were always taught to assist each other by 
word and deed, calling upon a little private 
treasury in the hands of Godney. 

The noon wedding passed off agreeably, all 
surprise centering in Mrs. Danvers’ elegant 
appearance in a dress of costly white brocade, 
elegantly trimmed with point lace, and proudly 
led into the room by Dr. Dent. 

The carriage arrived to take away the pair 
made one. Ha’s tears at parting with her 
mother were seemingly met with an odd un- 
responsiveness. 

“Are you not sorry, dearie, that I am leav- 
ing this dear old home for a time?” 

An evasive answer without tears greatly 
puzzled her daughter. After their departure 


102 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


the young clergyman, having remained during 
the light repast, his services were again called 
upon to perform the marriage contract between 
Dr. Dent and Mrs. Danvers. Another carriage 
awaited them at the door, but Mrs. Danvers 
took time to enlist the services of Miss Gracie 
in assuming her traveling dress, also request- 
ing her to put away superfluous articles, and 
seeing the house well ordered, by having good 
assistance before Ha’s return. Malcomb prom- 
ised to take breakfast and dinner at the house 
for the sake of poor old cook, who would other- 
wise be at a loss for something to do. 

As Dr. Dent turned to shake hands with 
Malcomb, he handed him a card with his proper 
address, saying: “Be sure you come straight 
to us and make your home there when across 
the pond.” 

In parting with Miss Godney he bent grace- 
fully and kissed her brow, telling her she 
looked so sweet he couldn ’t help it. The young 
people had scarcely recovered from their sur- 
prise, when they realized themselves as the 
two odd numbers. 

“I must divest myself of this lovely attire 
and go to work, Mr. Malcomb ; perhaps you can 
assist me by telling cook her role.” 

He was not slow to observe this was said to 
relieve their embarrassment. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


103 


When duties were complete, Malcomb 
’phoned for a cab, in which he placed the 
young lady, giving her the bunch of pink roses 
with a request that he might call the following 
evening. 

“Certainly, if you wish,” said she. 

“I shall be extremely glad to see you.” 

As the bustle of debarking had somewhat 
subsided and the big liner steamed out, Ha’s 
attention was caught by a stylish figure stand- 
ing with face seaward. 

“Who can that dainty lady be, Alfred? See 
how swell the dress of tweed and bonnet of 
shades to match look ! There is Dr. Dent speak- 
ing to her and laughing. Come on; let us be 
made acquainted. Some English lady crossing 
that he knows, perhaps.” 

“Why, mother! Dearest mother! What a 
surprise! You knew all about coming and 
did not part with me!” 

“Yes, Ila, dearie; but you will have a great- 
er shock yet,” for just at the same minute Dr. 
Dent held out his hand to her husband with a 
hearty laugh, remarking: 

“You couldn’t stand this granddad, so he 
had to be father-in-law, taking from your care 
the often much-abused and scandalized soul 
called mother-in-law. ’ * 


CHAPTER VIII. 


On their arrival at Bath “Jim” was in at- 
tendance with the Doctor’s somewhat antiquat- 
ed carriage and pair. Holding out his hand 
to the faithful old serving man in friendly 
greeting, with kindest enquiry for his wife, the 
Doctor assisted the ladies into their seats, while 
his grandson saw their smaller baggage depos- 
ited with them. 

Bath was looking lovely, and at sight of the 
glorious water and calm sunset all expressed 
their delight. Flowers met their eye as quiet 
streets and homes were quickly passed. Passing 
into an enclosure, at some distance from the 
avenue, a high wall excluding a view of passers 
by, they entered an unpretentious, roomy house, 
very plain and heavy looking to an American. 
A dear little old lady in black silk, with white 
apron and cap, with a low curtsey, relieved 
Mrs. Dent, Sr., of her wrap and bag, inviting 
her to follow her to rooms assigned. A younger 
maid was in attendance upon her daughter. 
Their rooms were in elegant taste, much being 
added to them by order from Dr. Dent. A 
104 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


105 


small library was beyond the bedroom, in 
which burned a fire on the hearth. 

‘‘For it gets cool, ma’am, toward evening,” 
remarked the attendant, Mrs. Beach, “Jim’s” 
wife, who stood in some hesitation, rubbing her 
hands. “May I ask if it is right of me to 
leave these little things — the work-basket and 
trifles she as is gone home left, just as they 
are on the end of her bookshelf? It is many 
long years since, and I tried to move them, but 
tears came into my eyes, for I was here afore 
she came and loved her so. I fear it will dis- 
please you or hurt Master. ’ ’ 

“Oh, no. Do not remove a thing. I am so 
glad to think of your devotion and of the pos- 
sibility of her being able to see my attempts at 
making her husband less lonely and a happier 
man.” 

This little speech forever settled the doubt- 
ful question as to whether her old employer 
had done wisely. Also the additional recogni- 
tion of her faithfulness when Ila, meeting her 
in the corridor, imprinted a kiss on the with- 
ered cheek, saying, “I am Ila, Dr. Dent’s 
granddaughter, and I hope you will love me.” 

The new mistress adjusted herself easily to 
the formalities of their English dinner. She 
had spent her childhood in England. “Jim” 


106 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


reappeared in faultless livery — a man having 
care of the horses — his only work outdoors be- 
ing the driving. Ila saw the possible embar- 
rassment of her husband at being left with 
their host, as the ladies withdrew, and tried 
tactfully to disobey, but was overruled by the 
remark from him: “Not tonight, girlie, be- 
cause I have something to tell. * * 

“Alfred,” he turned to say, “I do not wish 
to resent your offishness : you cannot help it. I 
wish you to join Ila in a visit to the Clifton 
property, a very lovely place. Can’t go there 
myself, so here is a deed to the whole thing. It 
is made over to Ila ; my only request being that 
you will not stand in the way of her coming to 
England six months of each year — if she wishes 
— or her mother might get lonely. Now go and 
talk it over with the two of them, while this 
mail is attended to.” 

Alfred Dent had departed with Ila a few 
days after their arrival, on a visit to Mrs. Tra- 
vers and Mr. Cosgrove. Her husband having 
told Ila of his strange past and their kindness, 
it seemed a great pleasure to her to meet them. 

“Are you obliged to live always at this 
place, dear? I wish it were possible to induce 
you to come and take care of a lovely place at 
Clifton for your foster-son, the lease of which 
soon ends. 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


107 


“ We go there in a few days, and would be de- 
lighted to have you join us in a visit of inspec- 
tion. Can the way be smoothed for your leav- 
ing home, Mrs. Travers?” 

Thoughtfully looking at Dent awhile, a mist 
gathering in her eyes, she said: 

“True, ma'am, if he wishes to have me go I 
would start any hour.” 

Thus it came about that her home was Ha’s, 
who like a daughter soothed her remaining 
years, returning to Clifton for six months of 
each year, during the life of their parents, their 
party including the new great-grandchildren. 

Dr. Dent, on their return from Clifton — • 
which place seemed, with all its beauty, to 
bring back a saddened memory of the fate of 
Alfred’s parents — had a secret to propound to 
Ila. It was a plan to get the dear friend Gra- 
eie Godney to come over with Malcomb and be 
one of their party when visiting Northumber- 
land. A draft for all required expenses was 
handed her with a knowing wink and smile, as 
he added: “No place like a ship; not a cor^ 
ner better than one finds on a sea voyage for 
getting acquainted. That girl should be among 
us. We are really bound to help them; for in 
truth if you go back, I must beg a visit from 
her to console your mother.” 


108 


NOBODY’S COUSIN 


Months later, as they all were scattered over 
the grounds at the great Northumberland es- 
tate, Malcomb found a chance to say: 

‘ 4 Miss Grade, what in the world am I to do 
with this White Elephant? Can you help me 
out by some suggestion ? ’ ’ 

“If it would not displease you I’d say, lease 
the whole thing to some rich folks. Mr. Wil- 
liamson could care for it all.” 

“But what of all these valuable things? 
Would you not like the money they would fetch 
at auction to build the Home for Unfortunates, 
planned on our voyage? Excuse my saying 
that the valuable and cumbersome works of art 
could not well be removed, and are not of your 
world. Perhaps I mistake your inclination, but 
does it not prompt self-sacrifice and duty to 
God and your fellow creatures? These beauti- 
ful things only divert one’s plain attention to 
realities. 

“Would you help me through all this fog, 
Grade? Will you marry a fellow who loved 
and lost?” 

“I should only be taking a second place, Mr. 
Malcomb, and afraid you would not love me.” 

“Yes, quite true — a second place, but many 
are happy in such. I would do my best. Try 
it, dear one.” 

Grade did. 

























































































































































































































































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